Today was one of those days where your past self walks right up to your present self, they dispense with introductions and then both turn to you, and you realize they are twins separated at birth. Only, one is slightly older, a little wiser, and has three additional children.
Today was one of those days where packing up yourself and your five people and moving to the mountains to create your own little commune sounds like a splendid idea.
Today was one of those days where all the hopes of your past catch up with all the hopes of your present, mix together with your fears of the future, and twist all together to give you some sort of confused, very jumbled up reflection in your very own mental mirror of Erised.
Today was also the first day in many, many days where coming here and writing sounded like a good (and doable) idea. Mostly because sometimes between the then and the now, I have come back to this place and my own words from the past have been a comfort to me, have helped me not feel alone. And that is a very strange phenomenon indeed.
Today was a day that I kissed my children extra, perhaps as penance for recent days when I've yelled too much, or not paid enough attention, or simply maybe just not kissed them enough.
Today was a day that I saw the disappointment that seized my own heart reflected in my 6-year old's face. Which made my heart hurt even worse.
Today was a day that I picked up my 4-year old and carried him around because I know all-too-well he will soon be too big or too old for me to do it. Justlikethat.
Today was a day that my 2-year old chattered animatedly about being with the boys (her brothers) at the pool and I thought hopefully of the day when I might be worried about her being at the pool with boys who are not her brothers.
Today was a day that I solved the mystery of my 5-month old's recent and uncharacteristic fussiness: a newly minted bottom tooth - her very first! - and thought that it was waaaayyyy too soon.
Today was a day that Facebook reminded me that 6 years ago today, I posted pictures of a kayaking trip on Willow Springs Lake with an 8-month old C.
Today was a day I realized how fast it all goes, even in all the day-to-day slowness and sameness.
Today was a day where I felt a small success of having folded the laundry and supervised the boys as they did contributions in their room and the bathroom (yay!), but also felt defeat at the end of the day that the rest of the house looks like a toy and Lego confetti bomb went off.
Today was a day when a mandatory quiet time was very necessary, and where not everyone slept but everyone was quiet for a whole hour and a half.
Today was a day when I was grateful to be in the thick of things with these little children.
Today was a day when, in all the confusion and strangeness of my own-ness and feelings, I found myself so grateful for these amazing little people.
Today was a day when I was also very grateful for the other tall person I share this life with, and hopeful that, despite my frustration and disappointment with circumstances, I provided a soft enough landing place for him at the end of a long day when he joined me and our budding commune at the pool.
Today was a day when I gave the other tall person fashion advice about wearing brown and green together, saying my only consideration about those colors together is asking myself "will I look like a tree?".
Today was a day where big feelings sometimes felt Too Big, but where all the little things added up to something pretty sublime when I stop to really think about it.
Today was a good day.
[Title quote is from "The Fifth Element"]
Monday, July 11, 2016
Thursday, January 16, 2014
"Whoa, that's gonna be like a billion transfers to get back to my house..."
So.
Life.
She's zinged me lately. First trimester death-march. Winter colds. Unborn baby with a muscle/joint disorder. Poor husband working 13 hour days and most weekends (salaried).
Yesterday was a bit of a doozy, for no real reason in particular. But in the exquisite chaos (read: urine collection in my fridge, a 4-year old who likes to use his angry voice, and a house that, well, I just gave up picking stuff up) there was also exquisite beauty. How else can you explain the loveliness of staring into the faces of your kids as you play Legos with them? That's the kinda FaceTime I'm talkin' 'bout, folks.
And yet, even so, I ended the day with hot tears of frustration making me blink hard before they finally boiled over.
I'm not feeling sorry for myself. Or complaining. I try hard not to give in to either one of those twin vices. Instead, times like this make me think a lot. And go in search of reading-type things that help me make sense of some of this craziness.
Among the things I read today, was this: "The Apostle Paul stated, “Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us.” (Hebrews 12:1). The race that is set before us on this earth is an endurance race filled with obstacles. The obstacles in this race are the challenges we wake up to each morning. We are here on earth to run the race, to exercise our moral agency, and to choose between right and wrong. In order to honorably and successfully finish the race and return to our Heavenly Father, we will need to pay the price of dedication, perseverance, and self-discipline. We need to get into spiritual shape. We need to develop spiritual stamina. We need strong testimonies that will lead to true conversion, and as a result we will find within ourselves the inner peace and strength needed to endure whatever challenges we may face."
Which got me thinking "what kinds of things am I trying to carry with me on this race of mine?" The immediate mental responses: Fear. Worry. Judgment. Impatience. Self-justification.
Holy crap! No wonder I feel heavy-laden. Add to that the fact that my spiritual stamina and strength are nowhere near their peak performance... and you might begin to see my trouble.
I guess I relate to this because I am an (erstwhile) runner. And also the type of runner who has her collection of trappings on every run: iPod, watch, water... and who thinks those who run without anything are sort of possibly nuts.
But, man alive if I don't find relief in the thought that when the Life trappings I'm trying to carry around with me on this long-distance race get too heavy to keep going, I can just lay them aside. Lay them aside and carry on.
Which is exactly what I will (and must) do.
[Title quote is from "Up"]
Life.
She's zinged me lately. First trimester death-march. Winter colds. Unborn baby with a muscle/joint disorder. Poor husband working 13 hour days and most weekends (salaried).
Yesterday was a bit of a doozy, for no real reason in particular. But in the exquisite chaos (read: urine collection in my fridge, a 4-year old who likes to use his angry voice, and a house that, well, I just gave up picking stuff up) there was also exquisite beauty. How else can you explain the loveliness of staring into the faces of your kids as you play Legos with them? That's the kinda FaceTime I'm talkin' 'bout, folks.
And yet, even so, I ended the day with hot tears of frustration making me blink hard before they finally boiled over.
I'm not feeling sorry for myself. Or complaining. I try hard not to give in to either one of those twin vices. Instead, times like this make me think a lot. And go in search of reading-type things that help me make sense of some of this craziness.
Among the things I read today, was this: "The Apostle Paul stated, “Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us.” (Hebrews 12:1). The race that is set before us on this earth is an endurance race filled with obstacles. The obstacles in this race are the challenges we wake up to each morning. We are here on earth to run the race, to exercise our moral agency, and to choose between right and wrong. In order to honorably and successfully finish the race and return to our Heavenly Father, we will need to pay the price of dedication, perseverance, and self-discipline. We need to get into spiritual shape. We need to develop spiritual stamina. We need strong testimonies that will lead to true conversion, and as a result we will find within ourselves the inner peace and strength needed to endure whatever challenges we may face."
Which got me thinking "what kinds of things am I trying to carry with me on this race of mine?" The immediate mental responses: Fear. Worry. Judgment. Impatience. Self-justification.
Holy crap! No wonder I feel heavy-laden. Add to that the fact that my spiritual stamina and strength are nowhere near their peak performance... and you might begin to see my trouble.
I guess I relate to this because I am an (erstwhile) runner. And also the type of runner who has her collection of trappings on every run: iPod, watch, water... and who thinks those who run without anything are sort of possibly nuts.
But, man alive if I don't find relief in the thought that when the Life trappings I'm trying to carry around with me on this long-distance race get too heavy to keep going, I can just lay them aside. Lay them aside and carry on.
Which is exactly what I will (and must) do.
[Title quote is from "Up"]
Monday, December 16, 2013
"Some people were born to sit by a river. Some get struck by lightning. Some have an ear for music. Some are artists. Some swim. Some know buttons. Some know Shakespeare. Some are mothers. And some people dance."
Oh, this mothering thing. So much of it is so unglamorous. Why, just tonight, my little one slapped me in the face, flicked a booger on me, and dripped juice in my hair. All within 10 minutes. But in that same 10 minutes, he also hugged his arms around my neck, trying to comfort himself into sleep as he burrowed his head into his pillow, and I, caught in his sudden embrace, my neck and body lying in awkward, crooked angles, wrapped one arm around his little body and curled the other underneath his upturned bum.
I savored the sweetness of that moment... for the five seconds it lasted, until he decided there was no comfort for him, even in the entanglement of his mother's body, and cried (screamed!) for a bottle. (Yes, my 18 month old still has a bottle at naptime and bedtime. And my four year old isn't potty trained. Go ahead. Judge me hard.)
Then, my mind thought about how my children have, once again, gone to bed at too-late an hour, and with unbrushed teeth to boot. Restless thoughts that made me restless enough not to wait for the subtle twitches of sleep to shake my baby's legs. And now, here I sit, in the quiet of a post-bedtime house, surveying the unspeakable chaos and wondering if all homes inhabited by young children look like Hurricane Andrew just rolled through them, or if it's just mine.
My mind makes mental lists of things I need to add to the grocery list, of things I need to update in my calendar, of things I need to clean tomorrow (ground up peppermint cookie behind the couch? check!). The madness of this chaos is driving me to clean! A good enough alternative to a play date cancelled on account of pre-Christmas conjunctivitis, I suppose. Besides, I need to wash the kids' bedding because there was that one morning last week that A woke up soaked on his front and I'm not quite sure what else got a dose of wetness that morning. And then there was that moment before my mom came over for dinner on Saturday when I wondered if she would look around my house and secretly ask herself when, precisely, it was that I became a filthy slob. I make another mental note to rally my energy early, in the hope that I might be able to actually make a dent in the mess, even as new ones are being made by my living, breathing natural disasters.
As the anxiety of it all starts to mount in my chest, I take a breath and I think back to Sunday. Sunday was a hard day for me. I hadn't felt the baby move in over a day. I was looking at all the sweet new babies and feeling sad and scared about things to come. Then, in Sunday school we read over The Proclamation, and it helped me remember that this little spirit that is coming to us is definitively who she is, and has been for all eternity, and her mortal body is a part of that identity, but there is so much more.
I thought on this for a while. Then, while in our women's meeting, something very strange happened. It was as if I had just awoken from a strange dream. Suddenly, I was like "Oh my gosh, I'm a mother! I have two little boys! How did that happen?!?" It was a very amusing little quandary, because it's not like I found them on my doorstep yesterday.
As I thought over why I was suddenly so rattled, it occurred to me that day to day (to day to day....it's endless!), so much of this mothering thing is what I DO. It's the mental lists. It's the chaos. It's worrying over fiber intake and how to wean kids off bottles. It's not getting worked up over not being able to control another person's bodily functions. It's the knowing precisely when to hand over a box of raisins to buy a few moments of quiet at a critical time. It's trying not to yell (and trying and trying and trying). It's feeling mother-guilt. It's wondering if today's Everything was enough.
On Sunday, I awoke anew to the realization that being a mother is what I AM; to the understanding that, for me, the mother-spirit within me lay dormant and could only find full expression by, in fact, physically and emotionally becoming a mother. For some, that mother-spirit manifests itself so completely in them that, mother or not, it radiates from who they are. For me, it lay dormant until the spark of bringing forth a person into this world started an ember ablaze, slowly building enough for it to really catch fire. And perhaps yesterday, I finally caught fire. Or maybe, more likely, this mother-spirit is an eternal flame that, like any flame, grows hotter the closer you stand to its center. Maybe I finally found my center.
This morning, as I dressed my children, I kissed one's belly, another's feet. Bodies from my body. That these bodies were formed in my body is a phenomenon that has, and might forever be, too large for me to really, truly grasp. Even as I grow another body, I am quite literally stunned by the process of it all. And, really, no less stunned once they are brought forth into this world.
A yoga teacher once told me that "Namaste" means "the divine in me bows to the divine in you". If that's not a perfect description of this mother-spirit, of its divinity, of its infinity, of its absolute surrender to these child-spirits given to us, then I don't know how else to say it.
The wish of my mother-heart, of my mother-spirit, tonight is that whatever is divine in me will always bow to the divine in my children. And that this adoration, this spiritual regard for one another, will expand outward from who I am into what I do.
Then maybe, just maybe, my daily Everything, the Am and the Do together in an unbroken circle, will be complete.
[Title quote is from "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button"]
I savored the sweetness of that moment... for the five seconds it lasted, until he decided there was no comfort for him, even in the entanglement of his mother's body, and cried (screamed!) for a bottle. (Yes, my 18 month old still has a bottle at naptime and bedtime. And my four year old isn't potty trained. Go ahead. Judge me hard.)
Then, my mind thought about how my children have, once again, gone to bed at too-late an hour, and with unbrushed teeth to boot. Restless thoughts that made me restless enough not to wait for the subtle twitches of sleep to shake my baby's legs. And now, here I sit, in the quiet of a post-bedtime house, surveying the unspeakable chaos and wondering if all homes inhabited by young children look like Hurricane Andrew just rolled through them, or if it's just mine.
My mind makes mental lists of things I need to add to the grocery list, of things I need to update in my calendar, of things I need to clean tomorrow (ground up peppermint cookie behind the couch? check!). The madness of this chaos is driving me to clean! A good enough alternative to a play date cancelled on account of pre-Christmas conjunctivitis, I suppose. Besides, I need to wash the kids' bedding because there was that one morning last week that A woke up soaked on his front and I'm not quite sure what else got a dose of wetness that morning. And then there was that moment before my mom came over for dinner on Saturday when I wondered if she would look around my house and secretly ask herself when, precisely, it was that I became a filthy slob. I make another mental note to rally my energy early, in the hope that I might be able to actually make a dent in the mess, even as new ones are being made by my living, breathing natural disasters.
As the anxiety of it all starts to mount in my chest, I take a breath and I think back to Sunday. Sunday was a hard day for me. I hadn't felt the baby move in over a day. I was looking at all the sweet new babies and feeling sad and scared about things to come. Then, in Sunday school we read over The Proclamation, and it helped me remember that this little spirit that is coming to us is definitively who she is, and has been for all eternity, and her mortal body is a part of that identity, but there is so much more.
I thought on this for a while. Then, while in our women's meeting, something very strange happened. It was as if I had just awoken from a strange dream. Suddenly, I was like "Oh my gosh, I'm a mother! I have two little boys! How did that happen?!?" It was a very amusing little quandary, because it's not like I found them on my doorstep yesterday.
As I thought over why I was suddenly so rattled, it occurred to me that day to day (to day to day....it's endless!), so much of this mothering thing is what I DO. It's the mental lists. It's the chaos. It's worrying over fiber intake and how to wean kids off bottles. It's not getting worked up over not being able to control another person's bodily functions. It's the knowing precisely when to hand over a box of raisins to buy a few moments of quiet at a critical time. It's trying not to yell (and trying and trying and trying). It's feeling mother-guilt. It's wondering if today's Everything was enough.
On Sunday, I awoke anew to the realization that being a mother is what I AM; to the understanding that, for me, the mother-spirit within me lay dormant and could only find full expression by, in fact, physically and emotionally becoming a mother. For some, that mother-spirit manifests itself so completely in them that, mother or not, it radiates from who they are. For me, it lay dormant until the spark of bringing forth a person into this world started an ember ablaze, slowly building enough for it to really catch fire. And perhaps yesterday, I finally caught fire. Or maybe, more likely, this mother-spirit is an eternal flame that, like any flame, grows hotter the closer you stand to its center. Maybe I finally found my center.
This morning, as I dressed my children, I kissed one's belly, another's feet. Bodies from my body. That these bodies were formed in my body is a phenomenon that has, and might forever be, too large for me to really, truly grasp. Even as I grow another body, I am quite literally stunned by the process of it all. And, really, no less stunned once they are brought forth into this world.
A yoga teacher once told me that "Namaste" means "the divine in me bows to the divine in you". If that's not a perfect description of this mother-spirit, of its divinity, of its infinity, of its absolute surrender to these child-spirits given to us, then I don't know how else to say it.
The wish of my mother-heart, of my mother-spirit, tonight is that whatever is divine in me will always bow to the divine in my children. And that this adoration, this spiritual regard for one another, will expand outward from who I am into what I do.
Then maybe, just maybe, my daily Everything, the Am and the Do together in an unbroken circle, will be complete.
[Title quote is from "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button"]
Friday, July 19, 2013
"Whoa, lady, I only speak two languages, English and bad English. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for conversation, but maybe you could just shut up for a moment?"
And now.... the retelling of a conversation with my legs:
Legs! Legs! Wake up! Yes, I know it's absurdly early for a weekend. We have children, remember?
BUT LOOK! It's overcast outside! So, we might be able to get a run in today without having to have woken up at 4 a.m.!
Let's get these kids changed, dressed, and fed before the Dad gets home, then we're off!
Yep! It's only 82 degrees out! We're SO GOING!
>>>
(bending over into a stretch - face to face with my legs): OK. You're white. And hairy. But you can do this.
Here we go.... OK ok. So you're a little slappy at the back. I don't know for sure, but that might be from too much sitting.
BUT do you REMEMBER this? Running! And feeling strong?
And a little out-of-habit? Yes. No worries we'll take it slow: Head is killing me right now. (Alas, barometric pressure giveth; barometric pressure taketh away...)
Uh oh. The sun is breaking from the clouds. That probably means only 2 miles instead of 3...
HEY! Don't act so happy.
Also? Turn left.
Ugh. I know: Sun.
Don't complain too much. See all those cars? You could be Teacher Legs and be stuck in-service inside, not running at all.
OK. Chemical Brothers is on.... let's do this!
Gaga. Keep going!
Aren't you glad we got Hair cut? I am too! So much less for us to carry.
aaaaannnnndddd..... Finished! We did it!
[Title quote is from "The Fifth Element"]
Legs! Legs! Wake up! Yes, I know it's absurdly early for a weekend. We have children, remember?
BUT LOOK! It's overcast outside! So, we might be able to get a run in today without having to have woken up at 4 a.m.!
Let's get these kids changed, dressed, and fed before the Dad gets home, then we're off!
Yep! It's only 82 degrees out! We're SO GOING!
>>>
(bending over into a stretch - face to face with my legs): OK. You're white. And hairy. But you can do this.
Here we go.... OK ok. So you're a little slappy at the back. I don't know for sure, but that might be from too much sitting.
BUT do you REMEMBER this? Running! And feeling strong?
And a little out-of-habit? Yes. No worries we'll take it slow: Head is killing me right now. (Alas, barometric pressure giveth; barometric pressure taketh away...)
Uh oh. The sun is breaking from the clouds. That probably means only 2 miles instead of 3...
HEY! Don't act so happy.
Also? Turn left.
Ugh. I know: Sun.
Don't complain too much. See all those cars? You could be Teacher Legs and be stuck in-service inside, not running at all.
OK. Chemical Brothers is on.... let's do this!
Gaga. Keep going!
Aren't you glad we got Hair cut? I am too! So much less for us to carry.
aaaaannnnndddd..... Finished! We did it!
[Title quote is from "The Fifth Element"]
Friday, June 28, 2013
"I'll unleash all my Wilderness Explorer training!"
As I lay with my baby tonight, helping him into an early bedtime (summer colds really stink!), I experienced something I haven't in a long while: the ability to focus my attentions on one child during bedtime. As both our bodies grew still, and his grew heavy with pre-sleep, my mind was free to step gingerly on the rocks across the slushy, murky Mombrain river, and arrive firmly in the land of Thought.
Once there, it began thinking of years both forward and past, island-hopping across the archipelago of Time.
First, it hopped forward, thinking of how different our life will probably be this time next year. Visions of a minivan-driving mom, a newly-minted prekindergartener, different jobs and possibly another squishy baby danced around the inside of my closed eyelids.
Then, a hop backward, considering how different our life was just a year ago, complete with images of a freshly hatched baby A, of C playing at splashpads, of us finding our bumpy way as new parents of two.
And then to a year before that: newly moved, C still a chubby-cheeked toddler-baby, M walking the line at his master's graduation, us feeling good with our progress working toward our Wishlife.
Lying there in the summer twilight, the dark rising outside our windows, I found myself grateful.
Grateful.
Later, on round two with my first baby, my mind got right back to it, this time by taking lots of hops ahead.
When the baby stirs next to us, I think about this newly-walking destined-to-be-middle child and imagine some future crisis related to him not being the oldest but not being the baby. I think how I will explain to him that his place in our family is like a peanut butter sandwich or an Oreo cookie: all the great stuff is in the middle. And I will hug him hard to squeeze out his frustrations and soften him back into the jelly that holds his brothers together.
When my oldest rolls closer to me and says "hi mom", I think about the day he will be even taller, (more) smelly, (more) farty, and (more) smarty. And the hope thumps against my heart that this boy will still announce to me, as he did right before storytime tonight, "Mom, I'm gonna come hug you and love on you!" and then come and actually do it, as he did tonight, and let me hug and squeeze him long, before shifting off my lap.
All that is uncharted territory, to be scouted and mapped as is needful.
Until then, I am hopeful. I am grateful. Most of the time, I don't know what I am doing. But I will give it my best.
I love my kids. I love my husband. I love my life. I love where we are inside of it. I hope that I'm living it to it's breadth and width and length, so that if you go to the bounds of this simple little life of mine, it is not only full up to the edges, but is slopped up onto the sides, gradually filling up so much that it's bursting at the seams.
[Title quote is from "Up"]
Once there, it began thinking of years both forward and past, island-hopping across the archipelago of Time.
First, it hopped forward, thinking of how different our life will probably be this time next year. Visions of a minivan-driving mom, a newly-minted prekindergartener, different jobs and possibly another squishy baby danced around the inside of my closed eyelids.
Then, a hop backward, considering how different our life was just a year ago, complete with images of a freshly hatched baby A, of C playing at splashpads, of us finding our bumpy way as new parents of two.
And then to a year before that: newly moved, C still a chubby-cheeked toddler-baby, M walking the line at his master's graduation, us feeling good with our progress working toward our Wishlife.
Lying there in the summer twilight, the dark rising outside our windows, I found myself grateful.
Grateful.
Later, on round two with my first baby, my mind got right back to it, this time by taking lots of hops ahead.
When the baby stirs next to us, I think about this newly-walking destined-to-be-middle child and imagine some future crisis related to him not being the oldest but not being the baby. I think how I will explain to him that his place in our family is like a peanut butter sandwich or an Oreo cookie: all the great stuff is in the middle. And I will hug him hard to squeeze out his frustrations and soften him back into the jelly that holds his brothers together.
When my oldest rolls closer to me and says "hi mom", I think about the day he will be even taller, (more) smelly, (more) farty, and (more) smarty. And the hope thumps against my heart that this boy will still announce to me, as he did right before storytime tonight, "Mom, I'm gonna come hug you and love on you!" and then come and actually do it, as he did tonight, and let me hug and squeeze him long, before shifting off my lap.
All that is uncharted territory, to be scouted and mapped as is needful.
Until then, I am hopeful. I am grateful. Most of the time, I don't know what I am doing. But I will give it my best.
I love my kids. I love my husband. I love my life. I love where we are inside of it. I hope that I'm living it to it's breadth and width and length, so that if you go to the bounds of this simple little life of mine, it is not only full up to the edges, but is slopped up onto the sides, gradually filling up so much that it's bursting at the seams.
[Title quote is from "Up"]
Thursday, June 20, 2013
"I'm always lookin' out my own eyes."
When C awoke sporting the same fever he was sporting last night, having broken it and put it back together several times through the night, I was a little worried.
Off-season colds worry me more than the on-season ones. Why? I'll have to get back to you.
So, I texted my nurse-sister and got some nursley reassurance. And justlikethat, my work day was back on!
After keeping all parties apprised about the feverish happenings at our house, I dropped the kids off with Nana & Tata.
As I left, baby A was sitting atop their golden car, smiling his little smile and alternately waving at me and pointing at trees and birds and sun. And sick-boy C was "running fast" in bare feet, his curls bouncing and landing and bouncing and landing against his feverish head. I looked long as I backed out of the driveway, and knew it was an image that was burned into my own head, even without the benefit of running a temperature.
Driving to work, I was more than usually aware that I am sitting on the brink of the possibility for stay-at-home-motherhood. And with the image of my waving baby and my curly-haired boy freshly in mind, I was more than usually grateful.
I had a productive day at work. It was a good day that included such things as crossed out to-do lists and lunch with a colleague. It also included a conversation with my boss about phasing myself out further.
Then, at some point throughout the course of the day, I came across this article. Make no mistake, because I have aimed myself at staying home rather than pursuing my occupation, my career has been in an extended stall pattern since about 2009. There are days that all I want to do is stay at home, literal and figurative costs be damned. And there are days that I really kind of like my part-time gig and feel like the luckiest person ever to be doing a job I enjoy at a rate of pay that is unheard of for part-time work and working for what is possibly the world's most understanding boss. And yes, it's possible that choosing to give that up with have costs that extend beyond dollars and cents.
I still don't know what the end game is. But I refuse to believe the pessimism. I refuse to drink that kool-aid. If and when I decide to stay at home, I refuse to believe that regret is the only thing waiting for me at the end of the tunnel.
[Title quote is from "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button"]
Off-season colds worry me more than the on-season ones. Why? I'll have to get back to you.
So, I texted my nurse-sister and got some nursley reassurance. And justlikethat, my work day was back on!
After keeping all parties apprised about the feverish happenings at our house, I dropped the kids off with Nana & Tata.
As I left, baby A was sitting atop their golden car, smiling his little smile and alternately waving at me and pointing at trees and birds and sun. And sick-boy C was "running fast" in bare feet, his curls bouncing and landing and bouncing and landing against his feverish head. I looked long as I backed out of the driveway, and knew it was an image that was burned into my own head, even without the benefit of running a temperature.
Driving to work, I was more than usually aware that I am sitting on the brink of the possibility for stay-at-home-motherhood. And with the image of my waving baby and my curly-haired boy freshly in mind, I was more than usually grateful.
I had a productive day at work. It was a good day that included such things as crossed out to-do lists and lunch with a colleague. It also included a conversation with my boss about phasing myself out further.
Then, at some point throughout the course of the day, I came across this article. Make no mistake, because I have aimed myself at staying home rather than pursuing my occupation, my career has been in an extended stall pattern since about 2009. There are days that all I want to do is stay at home, literal and figurative costs be damned. And there are days that I really kind of like my part-time gig and feel like the luckiest person ever to be doing a job I enjoy at a rate of pay that is unheard of for part-time work and working for what is possibly the world's most understanding boss. And yes, it's possible that choosing to give that up with have costs that extend beyond dollars and cents.
I still don't know what the end game is. But I refuse to believe the pessimism. I refuse to drink that kool-aid. If and when I decide to stay at home, I refuse to believe that regret is the only thing waiting for me at the end of the tunnel.
[Title quote is from "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button"]
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
"Let's look Death in the face and say, 'Whatever, man!'"
I am the saddest of sads about the tragic and untimely death of Google Reader.
I've been practically despondent for months. {Simultaneous lack of posts a coincidence? Possibly not! (Yes... let's just blame Google for that, shall we?) (rug sweeper *cough!)}
Not only does this feel like another way to force me into a smartphone (*shudder!) or into some other dark force such as Twitter (*double shudder!), it just feels a little senseless. (Meaning: I get the business/technological aspects, but it's messin' with my blog-reading vibe, man.)
So, I have finally decided to swallow this bitter pill, but while I search for decent alternatives, let's observe a moment of silence.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Amen.
Speaking of death (awkward segue, but roll with it)... you know what feels like death? Being awoken by a tyrant three year old at 2:30ish on most nights (mornings?) with his whispered, despotic demands. We have intensely shushed twin (Scorpio) tantrums, trying not to wake the whole house while he whines for me to get him milk/lay with him in his bed and I whine for him to let me sleep/stay in his own bed/drink water. It gets downright ugly in the dark around here, is what I'm saying.
What else? Oh yes. I am teething. 36 years old and teething. You know what? It sucks. It makes me feel for my poor baby, who may also possibly be teething (but is NOT making me feel like death at 2:30, but is sleeping through the night... go team!). Some years ago, after my first pregnancy ruined the last (?) of my baby teeth, I was crunching an almond bar and my baby tooth crunched right into the mix, falling out at long last. The proposed repair involves braces and anchors and pulling down the adult tooth and adjacent teeth that can't handle the anchors... so I haven't done much about the hole in my smile. Plus, I'm a 'wait and see' kinda person. [Read: lazy.] So, that adult tooth got impatient and starting coming in on its own. And right now? It's throbbing. Medical miracles sometimes hurt. Whatever.
OK. Sadly, that's the extent of my brain power today.
I'm spent.
Time to go watch some laundry and fold some sitcoms...
Um.
Yeah.
[Title quote is from "Lost" (TV)]
I've been practically despondent for months. {Simultaneous lack of posts a coincidence? Possibly not! (Yes... let's just blame Google for that, shall we?) (rug sweeper *cough!)}
Not only does this feel like another way to force me into a smartphone (*shudder!) or into some other dark force such as Twitter (*double shudder!), it just feels a little senseless. (Meaning: I get the business/technological aspects, but it's messin' with my blog-reading vibe, man.)
So, I have finally decided to swallow this bitter pill, but while I search for decent alternatives, let's observe a moment of silence.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Amen.
Speaking of death (awkward segue, but roll with it)... you know what feels like death? Being awoken by a tyrant three year old at 2:30ish on most nights (mornings?) with his whispered, despotic demands. We have intensely shushed twin (Scorpio) tantrums, trying not to wake the whole house while he whines for me to get him milk/lay with him in his bed and I whine for him to let me sleep/stay in his own bed/drink water. It gets downright ugly in the dark around here, is what I'm saying.
What else? Oh yes. I am teething. 36 years old and teething. You know what? It sucks. It makes me feel for my poor baby, who may also possibly be teething (but is NOT making me feel like death at 2:30, but is sleeping through the night... go team!). Some years ago, after my first pregnancy ruined the last (?) of my baby teeth, I was crunching an almond bar and my baby tooth crunched right into the mix, falling out at long last. The proposed repair involves braces and anchors and pulling down the adult tooth and adjacent teeth that can't handle the anchors... so I haven't done much about the hole in my smile. Plus, I'm a 'wait and see' kinda person. [Read: lazy.] So, that adult tooth got impatient and starting coming in on its own. And right now? It's throbbing. Medical miracles sometimes hurt. Whatever.
OK. Sadly, that's the extent of my brain power today.
I'm spent.
Time to go watch some laundry and fold some sitcoms...
Um.
Yeah.
[Title quote is from "Lost" (TV)]
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
"Bueller?... Bueller?... Bueller?"
I'm always impressed (and a bit jealous?) of those who can keep two thoughts in their head and then can actually blog about them. I have plenty of thoughts when I have no time, and plenty of time when I have no thoughts. Such is life.
May was a banner month, in almost every possible bad way. Excepting my baby's first birthday, May can be described in a series of idioms: falling off the wagon, dropping my basket, losing my nut, going fruit loops fuh-reakin' crazy...
I was not sad to say goodbye to it.
Now June is here, and with it the hope of renewal and recommitment. Of introspection. Of figuring Things out. Putting things in their proper place.
AND, I'm doing this:
A 30 day challenge to yell less and love more.
If I can ever get the math right (thoughts + time = blog), you'll see it here.
If not, well....
"Bueller? ... Bueller? ... Bueller? ..."
[Title quote is from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"]
May was a banner month, in almost every possible bad way. Excepting my baby's first birthday, May can be described in a series of idioms: falling off the wagon, dropping my basket, losing my nut, going fruit loops fuh-reakin' crazy...
I was not sad to say goodbye to it.
Now June is here, and with it the hope of renewal and recommitment. Of introspection. Of figuring Things out. Putting things in their proper place.
AND, I'm doing this:
A 30 day challenge to yell less and love more.
If I can ever get the math right (thoughts + time = blog), you'll see it here.
If not, well....
"Bueller? ... Bueller? ... Bueller? ..."
[Title quote is from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"]
Sunday, May 12, 2013
"The few syllables you got out were absolutely devastating."
Once upon a time, I was able to write missives (missives, I tell you!) about Very Important Things. You know, like Mother's Day and stuff...
These days, I can't even put a sentence together. Or if I AM able to, it's usually heavily-laden and dripping with Mommy and aimed at my children.
So, bear with me while I get a few devastating syllables out.
I've spend the better part of this month of May so far thinking about mothering and motherhood and all the trappings.
Today, while rocking my baby to sleep, I started thinking about the concept I had of a mother's love when I was younger. I think as a child, I believed my mom's love for her four children was a shared love, and that an equal portion of that love was reserved just for me. As I grew into adulthood, I knew my mom's love was a perfect love bound and shaped and constrained inside an imperfect being (as we all are). But, I suppose until today, I still believed my childish concept that her love was a sum of that grand mother-love portioned equally amongst her children.
Today, in my 3rd year as a mother and my first as a mother of two, it hit me: That's not how a mother's love works at all! My love for my children is not 100% divided by two. It is 100% for C and who he is AND it's also 100% for A and who he is. One Hundred Percent for each and every child.
There it is. Not earth shattering. Not new. But new to me and I am grateful for it.
P.S. I've been reading some posts over at The Orange Rhino about how sometimes we feel inadequate compared to others, or that we aren't good enough, but we keep on trying to become the mom we want to be. You know, if you want something slightly more meaty to read.
[Title quote is from "Music & Lyrics"]
These days, I can't even put a sentence together. Or if I AM able to, it's usually heavily-laden and dripping with Mommy and aimed at my children.
So, bear with me while I get a few devastating syllables out.
I've spend the better part of this month of May so far thinking about mothering and motherhood and all the trappings.
Today, while rocking my baby to sleep, I started thinking about the concept I had of a mother's love when I was younger. I think as a child, I believed my mom's love for her four children was a shared love, and that an equal portion of that love was reserved just for me. As I grew into adulthood, I knew my mom's love was a perfect love bound and shaped and constrained inside an imperfect being (as we all are). But, I suppose until today, I still believed my childish concept that her love was a sum of that grand mother-love portioned equally amongst her children.
Today, in my 3rd year as a mother and my first as a mother of two, it hit me: That's not how a mother's love works at all! My love for my children is not 100% divided by two. It is 100% for C and who he is AND it's also 100% for A and who he is. One Hundred Percent for each and every child.
There it is. Not earth shattering. Not new. But new to me and I am grateful for it.
P.S. I've been reading some posts over at The Orange Rhino about how sometimes we feel inadequate compared to others, or that we aren't good enough, but we keep on trying to become the mom we want to be. You know, if you want something slightly more meaty to read.
[Title quote is from "Music & Lyrics"]
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
"I came down in my invisible submarine. Don't you see it?"
I step between the twin canopies shading my eyes
and find a wide, flat ocean of fatigue
waiting for me there. I step into it,
walking deeper and deeper,
almost submerged.
I pull my head
underneath the liquid.
Into sleep.
[Title quote is from "Lost"]
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
"It's like my heart is a tooth, and it's got a cavity that can only be filled with children."
I was reading in Dinner: A Love Story the other day and Jenny used the phrase "existential angst".
And I went "existential angst, huh?"
Existential angst.
And then I went "YES! Finally a diagnosis!"
I think it started around the time I was scouring employment ads looking for ideas for a future career. That's just one symptom of this particular sickness. It also manifests itself as the soul-crushing dread of not fulfilling one's "true potential".
While searching for future career options, I've considered the following: health coach, nutritionist, dietician, systems engineer, contracts administrator, public procurement specialist, web content developer, environmental engineer, graphic designer, visual communication design. Once I even thought "med surg tech" sounded really great until I really thought about it for two minutes and changed my mind.
But, here's the thing: Right now, my "job" is to be Mom: Boss and Nurturer of my Children (and work part-time out of the home on the side). And while having babies and raising young children, this will be my only job in the foreseeable future.
I read an article about how some parents are treating parenting much like a career. It wasn't a good thing. Then there's this woman, who asked "what is my job as a parent?". A question along the lines of my own brainwaves this week when I felt like I was missing the mark (again!) and thinking that I should think back to my 20 year old post-childcare-worker self and remember the lofty ideals I held out for my future-SAHM self. I seem to remember things like "lesson plans" and "art projects" being near the top of that list.
And then I started thinking long and hard about what kind of mom I want to be. About what I am doing right. About what I want to do better. About what I want to start doing.
[All the while, a whole other mental list was forming. The list of Things I Would Do If I Had Pre-Mom Freetime Again: take art/painting classes, go to yoga classes, read more. . . Then I read this quote from ReeseDixon, and it made me take a really deep breath and then I felt better: "Every woman I know – those that stay home with their kids and those that don’t, those that have a job that pays them money, and those that don’t – struggles with balance. Work/Life balance, Family/Self balance, the balance between what goes in and what goes out." See? Don't you feel better too?]
So. Anyway.
What I Am Doing Right:
~Family Dinner. 6 nights a week.
~Record Keeping. Photo albums, picture books, memory boxes, baby calendars, mom calendars, kid journals.
~Story reading. Every night before bed.
~Hugs & kisses. All day.
What I Want to Do Better:
~Be OK with staying in. Weekly.
~More face time. More get on the floor and play time. Less screen time. Daily.
~Prayers. On my own, with the kids, with M. Daily.
~Art projects. Weekly.
[Title quote is from "Despicable Me"]
And I went "existential angst, huh?"
Existential angst.
And then I went "YES! Finally a diagnosis!"
I think it started around the time I was scouring employment ads looking for ideas for a future career. That's just one symptom of this particular sickness. It also manifests itself as the soul-crushing dread of not fulfilling one's "true potential".
While searching for future career options, I've considered the following: health coach, nutritionist, dietician, systems engineer, contracts administrator, public procurement specialist, web content developer, environmental engineer, graphic designer, visual communication design. Once I even thought "med surg tech" sounded really great until I really thought about it for two minutes and changed my mind.
But, here's the thing: Right now, my "job" is to be Mom: Boss and Nurturer of my Children (and work part-time out of the home on the side). And while having babies and raising young children, this will be my only job in the foreseeable future.
I read an article about how some parents are treating parenting much like a career. It wasn't a good thing. Then there's this woman, who asked "what is my job as a parent?". A question along the lines of my own brainwaves this week when I felt like I was missing the mark (again!) and thinking that I should think back to my 20 year old post-childcare-worker self and remember the lofty ideals I held out for my future-SAHM self. I seem to remember things like "lesson plans" and "art projects" being near the top of that list.
And then I started thinking long and hard about what kind of mom I want to be. About what I am doing right. About what I want to do better. About what I want to start doing.
[All the while, a whole other mental list was forming. The list of Things I Would Do If I Had Pre-Mom Freetime Again: take art/painting classes, go to yoga classes, read more. . . Then I read this quote from ReeseDixon, and it made me take a really deep breath and then I felt better: "Every woman I know – those that stay home with their kids and those that don’t, those that have a job that pays them money, and those that don’t – struggles with balance. Work/Life balance, Family/Self balance, the balance between what goes in and what goes out." See? Don't you feel better too?]
So. Anyway.
What I Am Doing Right:
~Family Dinner. 6 nights a week.
~Record Keeping. Photo albums, picture books, memory boxes, baby calendars, mom calendars, kid journals.
~Story reading. Every night before bed.
~Hugs & kisses. All day.
What I Want to Do Better:
~Be OK with staying in. Weekly.
~More face time. More get on the floor and play time. Less screen time. Daily.
~Prayers. On my own, with the kids, with M. Daily.
~Art projects. Weekly.
[Title quote is from "Despicable Me"]
Thursday, January 17, 2013
"Scream all you want, small mailman. None of your mailman friends can hear you."
I could not have planned the scene any better, even if I were playing actor/director/producer of the Hollywood film version of that moment in my life.
The morning had been Crazy supersized – what with several mid-night wakings topped with a dollop of early-morning rising of both kids. The one that can speak was decidedly cantankerous from the get-go: “MOM! Mom! Where is MOM!?” JUST as – and I am not kidding you – the baby was getting back to sleep after being up for 2 hours.
Even though the whole lovely crazy mess (think: Nachos) was sprinkled with moments of calm, I once again stood at my sink about three quarters of the way through my pre-work routine and said silently to the heavens “thank god I only have to do this two days a week!” (I do that almost every day I have to work.)
(I love my work. Really. I just don’t love the ‘getting there’ part.)
I loaded up everyone (and everything) in the car and we set off for the day, la-de-dah-ing down our street.
Suddenly: panic! C had forgotten his beloved Mongo (monkey-slash-blanket) at home! “Turn back home, Mom!”
C had forgotten to bring his Mongo with him, but brought his mean mother instead: “No! Mommy has to go to work.
Commence full-scale, earthquake-inducing (back-of-seat-kicking) meltdown! I started pulling EVERYthing I had out of my Magic Bag of Tricks – Felix the Cat style. . . only faster! Soothing mommy voice: fail! Fast-food reiteration, Harvey Karp-esque: fail! Distraction: fail! Stern mommy voice: fail! Threats: fail!
Oh, but he was heartbroken! (And underslept!) AND MAD!: “Turn back home and get my freakin’ Mongo!!! Go get him! I want him!!! I can’t see him!”
I pulled over and pulled the “you-can’t-ride-in-my-car-anymore-if-you-don’t-stop-kicking-the-seat-here-take-a drink-of-water”. . . Fail! “I want to walk to get Mongo!”
So, magic bag now empty, naturally, I turned on the radio to drown out the screaming.
And heard Green Day, summing up “Holiday,” completely in tune with the anarchist spirit spewing from my back seat:
“Just cause, just cause, because we're outlaws yeah
I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies
This is the dawning of the rest of our lives
I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies
This is the dawning of the rest of our lives
This is our lives on holiday”
And then, Tears for Fears, with:
“Welcome to your life
There's no turning back
Even while we sleep
We will find you
Acting on your best behaviour
Turn your back on mother nature
Everybody wants to rule the world….”
He was dragged, screaming, into Nana & Tata’s house. . . where he was distracted with a box of 20-year old retro cars that had been stumbled across in storage. Any word from me brought another barrage of sobs and whining. And tears. Oh, the TEARS!
Driving to work, I took some really deep breaths. I’m not going to lie.
And, for maybe the first time EVER, completely related with the Cranberries’ wailing of “Zombie”:
“In your head, in your head,
Zombie, zombie, zombie,
Hey, hey, hey. What's in your head,
In your head,
Zombie, zombie, zombie?”
Why, yes, yes I am.
[Title quote is from "Up"]
The morning had been Crazy supersized – what with several mid-night wakings topped with a dollop of early-morning rising of both kids. The one that can speak was decidedly cantankerous from the get-go: “MOM! Mom! Where is MOM!?” JUST as – and I am not kidding you – the baby was getting back to sleep after being up for 2 hours.
Even though the whole lovely crazy mess (think: Nachos) was sprinkled with moments of calm, I once again stood at my sink about three quarters of the way through my pre-work routine and said silently to the heavens “thank god I only have to do this two days a week!” (I do that almost every day I have to work.)
(I love my work. Really. I just don’t love the ‘getting there’ part.)
I loaded up everyone (and everything) in the car and we set off for the day, la-de-dah-ing down our street.
Suddenly: panic! C had forgotten his beloved Mongo (monkey-slash-blanket) at home! “Turn back home, Mom!”
C had forgotten to bring his Mongo with him, but brought his mean mother instead: “No! Mommy has to go to work.
Commence full-scale, earthquake-inducing (back-of-seat-kicking) meltdown! I started pulling EVERYthing I had out of my Magic Bag of Tricks – Felix the Cat style. . . only faster! Soothing mommy voice: fail! Fast-food reiteration, Harvey Karp-esque: fail! Distraction: fail! Stern mommy voice: fail! Threats: fail!
Oh, but he was heartbroken! (And underslept!) AND MAD!: “Turn back home and get my freakin’ Mongo!!! Go get him! I want him!!! I can’t see him!”
I pulled over and pulled the “you-can’t-ride-in-my-car-anymore-if-you-don’t-stop-kicking-the-seat-here-take-a drink-of-water”. . . Fail! “I want to walk to get Mongo!”
So, magic bag now empty, naturally, I turned on the radio to drown out the screaming.
And heard Green Day, summing up “Holiday,” completely in tune with the anarchist spirit spewing from my back seat:
“Just cause, just cause, because we're outlaws yeah
I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies
This is the dawning of the rest of our lives
I beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies
This is the dawning of the rest of our lives
This is our lives on holiday”
And then, Tears for Fears, with:
“Welcome to your life
There's no turning back
Even while we sleep
We will find you
Acting on your best behaviour
Turn your back on mother nature
Everybody wants to rule the world….”
He was dragged, screaming, into Nana & Tata’s house. . . where he was distracted with a box of 20-year old retro cars that had been stumbled across in storage. Any word from me brought another barrage of sobs and whining. And tears. Oh, the TEARS!
Driving to work, I took some really deep breaths. I’m not going to lie.
And, for maybe the first time EVER, completely related with the Cranberries’ wailing of “Zombie”:
“In your head, in your head,
Zombie, zombie, zombie,
Hey, hey, hey. What's in your head,
In your head,
Zombie, zombie, zombie?”
Why, yes, yes I am.
[Title quote is from "Up"]
Monday, January 7, 2013
"Dang! You got shocks, pegs. . . Lucky!"
A Mother's Prayer:
Heavenly Father,
Thank you for my soft bed
Thank you for my warm house
Thank you for clean sheets
Thank you for a washer to wash them in
Thank you for hot showers
Thank you for feeling better today
Thank you for helping me remember magnesium
Thank you for tylenol
Thank you for water
Thank you for my beautiful home
Thank you for squishy babies
Thank you for breast pumps (did I really just say that!?)
Thank you for husbands who go grocery shopping
Thank you for three-year olds
Thank you for seven month olds
Thank you for LOVE
Thank you thank you thank you for families
Thank you for my life
Thank you for 11:00 bedtimes
and please bless that my baby will sleep through the night.
AMEN.
[Title quote is from "Napoleon Dynamite"]
Heavenly Father,
Thank you for my soft bed
Thank you for my warm house
Thank you for clean sheets
Thank you for a washer to wash them in
Thank you for hot showers
Thank you for feeling better today
Thank you for helping me remember magnesium
Thank you for tylenol
Thank you for water
Thank you for my beautiful home
Thank you for squishy babies
Thank you for breast pumps (did I really just say that!?)
Thank you for husbands who go grocery shopping
Thank you for three-year olds
Thank you for seven month olds
Thank you for LOVE
Thank you thank you thank you for families
Thank you for my life
Thank you for 11:00 bedtimes
and please bless that my baby will sleep through the night.
AMEN.
[Title quote is from "Napoleon Dynamite"]
Thursday, November 15, 2012
"If you think about it, your favorite memories, the most important moments in your life... were you alone? Life's better with company."
So. Life is moving by at breakneck speed. (Dude. Thanksgiving is in a week!) This life pace is giving me anxiety. And a special brand of guilt complex. The mom kind, wherein I am anxious over not kissing on my baby enough and staring at and memorizing his chubby face and getting my face close enough to his so that he can put his little hand out and touch my cheek (oh! that is my favorite!). Also wherein the "momma/mommy" phase has passed into a grown-up-three-year-old "mom" and my heart aches over what's around the corner (what!? no more sitting on my lap? no more pretending not to want my kisses, but secretly loving them? no more pre-sleep snuggles? OH MY HEART! it breaks! it breaks!)
That's a special sort of sickness right there. The culprits? Too much Facebook? Possibly. Too much screen time and too little face time? Sure.
In short, I have anxiety over not enjoying this period in their (and thus my) life as much as I possibly can. I need to squeeze the juices out of this time of our lives and then sit/play/wallow around in those juices until I'm downright wrinkly and worn out!
SO?
So, I devised what I've come to call "The Gratitude Project". It goes a little something like this. . .
The Gratitude Project: to more fully live each day in thanks giving. . .
November 15 - November 22, 2012 (and beyond?)
~ no internet when kids or husband are in the room (give them my undivided attention)
~ ponder and write about one blessing every day (explore blessings in order to more fully understand and appreciate them)
~ prayers of gratitude (not asking for a single thing)
See you on the other side!
[Title quote is from "Up in the Air"]
That's a special sort of sickness right there. The culprits? Too much Facebook? Possibly. Too much screen time and too little face time? Sure.
In short, I have anxiety over not enjoying this period in their (and thus my) life as much as I possibly can. I need to squeeze the juices out of this time of our lives and then sit/play/wallow around in those juices until I'm downright wrinkly and worn out!
SO?
So, I devised what I've come to call "The Gratitude Project". It goes a little something like this. . .
The Gratitude Project: to more fully live each day in thanks giving. . .
November 15 - November 22, 2012 (and beyond?)
~ no internet when kids or husband are in the room (give them my undivided attention)
~ ponder and write about one blessing every day (explore blessings in order to more fully understand and appreciate them)
~ prayers of gratitude (not asking for a single thing)
See you on the other side!
[Title quote is from "Up in the Air"]
Saturday, October 20, 2012
"Mini-Me, no, we don't gnaw on our kitty."
I realized I never closed the loop on this post about travel food. And I'm nothing if I'm not a loop closer. (Not.)
So. Here's the dealio. We stayed in University Heights. We thought we'd been all over San Diego in the 13 years we've been traveling there. But we were wrong. It's a good thing to be wrong about, as it turns out, because that means there's that many more areas to explore. . . I digress.
One of our first nights there, on this recommendation, we tried out Burger Lounge in Coronado. We parked and walked down to the restaurant and it was a bit of a stress when we arrived and realized the restaurant was so narrow it must have been built for ants (thank you, Derek Zoolander!). But, patience paid off and while M was ordering, a spot opened up outside and we parked the stroller and had a good burger. I also tried some of the chicken tenders, which were served on kabob sticks - so fun for kids older than mine (and ones who actually eat chicken). All in all, it wasn't really a standout in my mind - it was pretty good, but just good - and at least I know where to get a decent burger in San Diego. The ugly truth is that I was more taken with the dynamics of the family dinner conversation at the table next to ours. Now that is something I will never forget about our dinner at Burger Lounge!
We took the recommendation of our hosts/rental property managers and ordered some takeout from Bahn Thai, walked to pick it up and then walked to a nearby park. Let's just say I'm still thinking about their basil fried rice and chicken. Definitely a must-have on our next visit! Plus (!) our kid eats rice, so it's a win-win.
We drove to downtown and picked up kebabs from The Kebab Shop and ended up eating picnic-style at Seaport Village since Embarcadero Park was closed for an event. I freakin' LOVED this food! I had a chicken kebab and loved every bite of it! And we will definitely go for some again next time we are there.
Here is the part where I must note that my sweet husband, who against all odds has turned into a loving, protective dad-type (read: old man), has formed a new criteria for restaurants: they have to be "family-friendly" meaning they have to actually LIKE families, FIT our family (whether it's with an infant seat or a stroller), and not have music blaring so loudly that it SCARES our family. {The Kebab Shop's music was too loud for my husband's taste.}
We attempted to eat at Parkhouse Eatery for breakfast. By "attempted" I mean we did a drive-by and M decided it wasn't "family friendly" so we headed to 222 Cafe, which we had tried on two previous trips. Driving by, seeing the line, and recalling having eaten there with our oldest when he was 10 months old, he deemed 222 not family friendly either. He wanted to go, instead, to some IHOP Express we had seen on the way to 222. AS IF!! So, we drove back north to Parkhouse, parked, got out of the car and walked inside. We asked for an outside seating (music too loud inside), pointed out a table, and it was promptly given to the people behind us.
So, positively seething (and now starving), we went back to the car and I proceeded to have a MAJOR tantrum over NOT going back to our rental a block away and STAYING OUT and finding SOMEWHERE ELSE TO EAT NOW! (Poor husband.)
We drove until we found Bread & Cie in Hillcrest, which was barely to my husband's "family friendly" standards (even though there were two similarly young families sitting right next to us. I had a french toast panini and a few bites of my kid's oatmeal. It was pretty good, but not fantastic. Then again, the bitter aftertaste of vitriol in my mouth may have soured things just a bit.
On our last day there, we were planning to try Con Pane. Sadly, we did not get the chance. We did, however, get to try Girard Gourmet in La Jolla and dropped a pretty penny on what ended up being another picnic lunch, this time eaten at Spanish Landing Park across from the airport. They slice the bread for sandwiches from fresh loaves, but waaaayyy too thickly. Their baked goods were fantastic, but the sandwiches and the rest of the food was just way too overpriced and I just won't ever make that mistake again.
This experience definitely enlightened my understanding of myself, of my husband, and of the intricacies of San Diego dining. In a word: each of us is kooky in our own delightful ways!
[Title quote is from "Austin Powers"]
So. Here's the dealio. We stayed in University Heights. We thought we'd been all over San Diego in the 13 years we've been traveling there. But we were wrong. It's a good thing to be wrong about, as it turns out, because that means there's that many more areas to explore. . . I digress.
One of our first nights there, on this recommendation, we tried out Burger Lounge in Coronado. We parked and walked down to the restaurant and it was a bit of a stress when we arrived and realized the restaurant was so narrow it must have been built for ants (thank you, Derek Zoolander!). But, patience paid off and while M was ordering, a spot opened up outside and we parked the stroller and had a good burger. I also tried some of the chicken tenders, which were served on kabob sticks - so fun for kids older than mine (and ones who actually eat chicken). All in all, it wasn't really a standout in my mind - it was pretty good, but just good - and at least I know where to get a decent burger in San Diego. The ugly truth is that I was more taken with the dynamics of the family dinner conversation at the table next to ours. Now that is something I will never forget about our dinner at Burger Lounge!
We took the recommendation of our hosts/rental property managers and ordered some takeout from Bahn Thai, walked to pick it up and then walked to a nearby park. Let's just say I'm still thinking about their basil fried rice and chicken. Definitely a must-have on our next visit! Plus (!) our kid eats rice, so it's a win-win.
We drove to downtown and picked up kebabs from The Kebab Shop and ended up eating picnic-style at Seaport Village since Embarcadero Park was closed for an event. I freakin' LOVED this food! I had a chicken kebab and loved every bite of it! And we will definitely go for some again next time we are there.
Here is the part where I must note that my sweet husband, who against all odds has turned into a loving, protective dad-type (read: old man), has formed a new criteria for restaurants: they have to be "family-friendly" meaning they have to actually LIKE families, FIT our family (whether it's with an infant seat or a stroller), and not have music blaring so loudly that it SCARES our family. {The Kebab Shop's music was too loud for my husband's taste.}
We attempted to eat at Parkhouse Eatery for breakfast. By "attempted" I mean we did a drive-by and M decided it wasn't "family friendly" so we headed to 222 Cafe, which we had tried on two previous trips. Driving by, seeing the line, and recalling having eaten there with our oldest when he was 10 months old, he deemed 222 not family friendly either. He wanted to go, instead, to some IHOP Express we had seen on the way to 222. AS IF!! So, we drove back north to Parkhouse, parked, got out of the car and walked inside. We asked for an outside seating (music too loud inside), pointed out a table, and it was promptly given to the people behind us.
So, positively seething (and now starving), we went back to the car and I proceeded to have a MAJOR tantrum over NOT going back to our rental a block away and STAYING OUT and finding SOMEWHERE ELSE TO EAT NOW! (Poor husband.)
We drove until we found Bread & Cie in Hillcrest, which was barely to my husband's "family friendly" standards (even though there were two similarly young families sitting right next to us. I had a french toast panini and a few bites of my kid's oatmeal. It was pretty good, but not fantastic. Then again, the bitter aftertaste of vitriol in my mouth may have soured things just a bit.
On our last day there, we were planning to try Con Pane. Sadly, we did not get the chance. We did, however, get to try Girard Gourmet in La Jolla and dropped a pretty penny on what ended up being another picnic lunch, this time eaten at Spanish Landing Park across from the airport. They slice the bread for sandwiches from fresh loaves, but waaaayyy too thickly. Their baked goods were fantastic, but the sandwiches and the rest of the food was just way too overpriced and I just won't ever make that mistake again.
This experience definitely enlightened my understanding of myself, of my husband, and of the intricacies of San Diego dining. In a word: each of us is kooky in our own delightful ways!
[Title quote is from "Austin Powers"]
Friday, October 19, 2012
"I couldn't hear you. There was a crack in the planet. WOW... that was noisy!"
OK. So here's the bloody, graphic truth of it all:
Having a second kid has totally been kickin' our trash.
But it's good! It's all good!
. . . Now.
Sort of. Mostly.
When we were hoping and praying and waiting for our first, we were more than happy to sign ourselves up for a lifestyle upheaval. We were all bring it on, kid!
And with our second, we fell right into the trap of all who have a little seasoned experience: we were too casual. We were all pssshhhhh, another baby? Eh. We got this!
{insert facepalm here}
Ever since baby A graced us with his lovely, happy, healthy, cottage-cheese-thighs-and-butt presence, we've been all loop de loop de loop de loop de loop. . . . and then we were just plain loopy loopy loopy loopy.
We kept waiting for it to get normal. And waiting. And looking around, mouths agape, going whaaaaaa???? and then more with the waiting.
Now, I know some people who are all like "going from 1 to 2 was easy! it's going from 5 to 6 that was the kicker!"
We are not those people.
No. WE are the people who are all "we totally love our comfort and order and normal and we eschew chaos and crazy and abnormal wherever possible".
And babies? Babies are the kind of people who are all "hi! I brought chaos and crazy and abnormal home with me. . . good thing I'm cute, right?"
Seriously, people.
Seriously.
There are nights when M and I look at each other and say "do we really think we can do this again?" and we shake our heads and sigh. And then we fall asleep. It's a circular kind of conversation, really.
But, it's getting better. And better. And better. Especially when my boys are kissing on each other and my heart grows five times bigger and everything feels pretty right in the world.
I just hope if there really is an "again" that I won't forget that it won't feel normal for a long long time.
*Note to self: look up this blog post next time so you won't be so danged surprised when the world falls out of orbit and gets stuck on the dark side of the moon. Mmmmmmkay?
[Title quote is from "Spanglish"]
Having a second kid has totally been kickin' our trash.
But it's good! It's all good!
. . . Now.
Sort of. Mostly.
When we were hoping and praying and waiting for our first, we were more than happy to sign ourselves up for a lifestyle upheaval. We were all bring it on, kid!
And with our second, we fell right into the trap of all who have a little seasoned experience: we were too casual. We were all pssshhhhh, another baby? Eh. We got this!
{insert facepalm here}
Ever since baby A graced us with his lovely, happy, healthy, cottage-cheese-thighs-and-butt presence, we've been all loop de loop de loop de loop de loop. . . . and then we were just plain loopy loopy loopy loopy.
We kept waiting for it to get normal. And waiting. And looking around, mouths agape, going whaaaaaa???? and then more with the waiting.
Now, I know some people who are all like "going from 1 to 2 was easy! it's going from 5 to 6 that was the kicker!"
We are not those people.
No. WE are the people who are all "we totally love our comfort and order and normal and we eschew chaos and crazy and abnormal wherever possible".
And babies? Babies are the kind of people who are all "hi! I brought chaos and crazy and abnormal home with me. . . good thing I'm cute, right?"
Seriously, people.
Seriously.
There are nights when M and I look at each other and say "do we really think we can do this again?" and we shake our heads and sigh. And then we fall asleep. It's a circular kind of conversation, really.
But, it's getting better. And better. And better. Especially when my boys are kissing on each other and my heart grows five times bigger and everything feels pretty right in the world.
I just hope if there really is an "again" that I won't forget that it won't feel normal for a long long time.
*Note to self: look up this blog post next time so you won't be so danged surprised when the world falls out of orbit and gets stuck on the dark side of the moon. Mmmmmmkay?
[Title quote is from "Spanglish"]
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
"You're messing with my Zen thing, man."
If you know the title quote, you know that every parent must feel like this some time or other.
Sunday was my turn.
Too little face time. Too much whining and crying. Too little patience. Too much fussing (about EVERYthing). Too much "no". Too much doing it anyway. Too much yelling.
Too much tattling on Mama to Dada ("mama made me upset because she said 'no! no! no!'") (I was sort of impressed with his dramatics.) (My only critique was that I did NOT say "NO!" in quite that harsh a tone. . .)
And then there was the episode of mommy hand slapping a toddler arm when it insisted on slamming the fridge door shut even after I blocked it three times in a desperate attempt to keep the baby sleeping in his swing. . .
Game over.
I went to bed feeling like I failed that day.
And it bled over into the next day.
I made up for it with extra squishes and kisses and face time and eye contact the next night. And I hoped it was Better enough.
And now the stupid dog is acting out by chewing up the diapers in the diaper pail outside.
Dude.
I can't win!
[Title quote is from "Tron: Legacy"]
Sunday was my turn.
Too little face time. Too much whining and crying. Too little patience. Too much fussing (about EVERYthing). Too much "no". Too much doing it anyway. Too much yelling.
Too much tattling on Mama to Dada ("mama made me upset because she said 'no! no! no!'") (I was sort of impressed with his dramatics.) (My only critique was that I did NOT say "NO!" in quite that harsh a tone. . .)
And then there was the episode of mommy hand slapping a toddler arm when it insisted on slamming the fridge door shut even after I blocked it three times in a desperate attempt to keep the baby sleeping in his swing. . .
Game over.
I went to bed feeling like I failed that day.
And it bled over into the next day.
I made up for it with extra squishes and kisses and face time and eye contact the next night. And I hoped it was Better enough.
And now the stupid dog is acting out by chewing up the diapers in the diaper pail outside.
Dude.
I can't win!
[Title quote is from "Tron: Legacy"]
Sunday, August 26, 2012
"I was thinking how nothing lasts, and what a shame that is."
Here I am on the eve of my return to work after a 15-week hiatus (a.k.a. maternity leave, a.k.a. having a baby, a.k.a. "journey into madness and back").
BUNCH-o-thoughts running through my mind, and this is where Facebook fails me and I return to my trusty rusty blog to get them all down so I can maybe sleep a little tonight and not be so much the zombie worker tomorrow.
{WOW! That was a crazy run-on sentence right there.}
[blog post interrupted by husband who had lots of his own thoughts and needed to talk about them to me.]
Do you see people?!?!? Do you see why I never blog anymore?
And why I am destined to be a zombie?
[Title post is from "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button"]
BUNCH-o-thoughts running through my mind, and this is where Facebook fails me and I return to my trusty rusty blog to get them all down so I can maybe sleep a little tonight and not be so much the zombie worker tomorrow.
{WOW! That was a crazy run-on sentence right there.}
[blog post interrupted by husband who had lots of his own thoughts and needed to talk about them to me.]
Do you see people?!?!? Do you see why I never blog anymore?
And why I am destined to be a zombie?
[Title post is from "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button"]
Sunday, July 22, 2012
"Crunchy creamy candy cookie cupcake."
I will never forget our trip to Europe in 2008. We went on a Mediterranean cruise as an early celebration of our 10th anniversary.
To this day, I still feel a pang of sadness about our time in Barcelona. We took a hop on/off bus around the city. It was raining. It was soggy and exciting. We made it to La Sagrada Familia before we felt absolutely famished. Feeling far away from home and being completely unprepared, we ducked into a KFC. It's one of the great regrets of my traveling life. (The other is the time we ate at a Wendy's on the Big Island.)
These moments were born of desperation. As the resident trip researcher and planner (aka "wife" or "mom" in some circles), I hung my head in shame. Every trip we've taken since then has been geared toward avoiding such regretful moments.
If asked, I will absolutely deny being a foodie. Because I, clearly, am not such a one. I have, however, decided that moments such as those described above have made me a "vacation foodie".
Now, whenever I plan a trip, I research unique and interesting places to eat in the area. (Like the time we ate at Pita Paradise in Kihei or Da Kitchen in Kahului or at Cholo's and Kua Aina in Haleiwa).
Right now, for instance, I'm planning a quick trip to San Diego - a place we have been almost every year of the last 13. Easy, right? Not if you're staying in an entirely different area and looking for entirely different eats! (I am shaking my head at past memories of sitting in Jack in the Crack and Del Taco drive thrus off the 8. . .)
I have some help from this blog post, TripAdvisor, and Urban Spoon. I've got a simple itinerary that is now fleshed out with places to eat. I'll let you know how it goes.
What about you? Are you a foodie? Or a gourmet?
[Title quote is from "Rango"]
To this day, I still feel a pang of sadness about our time in Barcelona. We took a hop on/off bus around the city. It was raining. It was soggy and exciting. We made it to La Sagrada Familia before we felt absolutely famished. Feeling far away from home and being completely unprepared, we ducked into a KFC. It's one of the great regrets of my traveling life. (The other is the time we ate at a Wendy's on the Big Island.)
These moments were born of desperation. As the resident trip researcher and planner (aka "wife" or "mom" in some circles), I hung my head in shame. Every trip we've taken since then has been geared toward avoiding such regretful moments.
If asked, I will absolutely deny being a foodie. Because I, clearly, am not such a one. I have, however, decided that moments such as those described above have made me a "vacation foodie".
Now, whenever I plan a trip, I research unique and interesting places to eat in the area. (Like the time we ate at Pita Paradise in Kihei or Da Kitchen in Kahului or at Cholo's and Kua Aina in Haleiwa).
Right now, for instance, I'm planning a quick trip to San Diego - a place we have been almost every year of the last 13. Easy, right? Not if you're staying in an entirely different area and looking for entirely different eats! (I am shaking my head at past memories of sitting in Jack in the Crack and Del Taco drive thrus off the 8. . .)
I have some help from this blog post, TripAdvisor, and Urban Spoon. I've got a simple itinerary that is now fleshed out with places to eat. I'll let you know how it goes.
What about you? Are you a foodie? Or a gourmet?
[Title quote is from "Rango"]
Monday, July 2, 2012
"Hell of a book. It's about bunnies!"
I recently saw an interview with Lisa Bloom about her new book called "Swagger: 10 Urgent Rules for Raising Boys in an Era of Failing Schools, Mass Joblessness, and Thug Culture".
As the mother of two boys, the interview drew my attention and I listened to what she said in the somewhat curtailed interview. While the excerpts the shared from the book didn't necessarily catch my attention, I might give it a read just to see what she has to say.
During the interview, she outlined three major things parents should do to help their boys: teach them humility, set college attendance as an expectation, and expose them to books, books and more books.
I did a mental checklist of each of these main points:
~Humble Pie: I hope I'm doing OK, but it's kind of hard to tell with my oldest because he's been so center-of-the-universe until #2 came along.
~Expect college: check! (We will be establishing a Coverdell account soon from both boys' savings accounts.)
~Promote Literacy: check! She actually said "have books EVERYwhere in your home". I thought to myself, "Well. . . Done!"
Finally! Something I feel that I'm doing really really well at! Wanna see proof of my mad boy-mothering skills (at least when it comes to books)?
Witness:
[Title quote is from "Lost"]
As the mother of two boys, the interview drew my attention and I listened to what she said in the somewhat curtailed interview. While the excerpts the shared from the book didn't necessarily catch my attention, I might give it a read just to see what she has to say.
During the interview, she outlined three major things parents should do to help their boys: teach them humility, set college attendance as an expectation, and expose them to books, books and more books.
I did a mental checklist of each of these main points:
~Humble Pie: I hope I'm doing OK, but it's kind of hard to tell with my oldest because he's been so center-of-the-universe until #2 came along.
~Expect college: check! (We will be establishing a Coverdell account soon from both boys' savings accounts.)
~Promote Literacy: check! She actually said "have books EVERYwhere in your home". I thought to myself, "Well. . . Done!"
Finally! Something I feel that I'm doing really really well at! Wanna see proof of my mad boy-mothering skills (at least when it comes to books)?
Witness:
[Title quote is from "Lost"]
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