Loving What I Have

"Mona With Curly Hair," by Olaf-Jan, Norway

I wanted to post a photo of the woman who takes my latte order on Fridays, while I'm waiting for my daughter to finish her Gymnastics class.  However, although I chat with her every week, I'm too shy to ask to snap her photo.  So I will post this photo of Mona Lisa instead, with hair that looks a lot like the Latte Lady's.  The first time I met her, the Latte Lady's long, curly hair was swept up on top of her head in a bun, with big, uncontainable chunks spilling out--in short, the kind of hair I have always admired and wanted.  So, of course, I asked her what I always ask someone who has that kind of hair:  "Do you like your hair?"

Of course, she said "no."  She then went on to tell me about the lengths she goes through to straighten, flatten, blow-dry, etc., so her hair will be straighter. 

This will be a short post, because I have stuff to do, and it's about not really about hair.  It's about taking time to like what we have.  Lately I have been writing posts about my kids and parenthood and conflict, and how challenging it can all be at times.  I have written before that these intense moments capture my attention, but I need to say that, percentage-wise, they make up a very small part of my life as a mom.  And although I might make it sound like I would change my kids or my situation, I have numerous and frequent moments when I recognize that I really have a great deal going over here.

This weekend we went camping, and since the weather was absolutely beautiful, I had occasion to put sunscreen on my kids.  And I was slowed down enough to truly soak up the enjoyment of rubbing the lotion on their little faces.  I said all of these things, like "Hold still!," "Don't wiggle,"  "Be careful so I don't accidentally get it in your eye, it stings so much when that happens!"  All of that was true.  But really, I was just prolonging and savoring the opportunity to gently hold their little chins, and rub their cute little noses, and have them standing still, so close to me, for a little bit longer. 

I have been blessed with two of the most beautiful children ever.  They are healthy and bright and curious and energetic and loving.  Most of the time, I adore taking care of them, and I can't wait to see who they grow to become.  They do so many things right, and even their "wrong" is still just a part of learning about life on Planet Earth.

I just needed to say that, because it's true.  And I'm all about telling you the truth.

Comments, hmmm....?

Current Motherhood Conundrums

I see a lot written about what mothers are, or what we suppose them to be, but not so much about HOW they do it. Mothers are the Orientation Advisors for Planet Earth. They're Julie, your cruise director. They are the matrix from which a person emerges. How wonderful it would be to have a helpful matrix, one that facilitates success and happiness in the broader culture.

To be truly successful that way, a mom must have a perspective. That is, she has to be awake. As a mom, my goal is to be like an oak tree--rooted, strong, unerringly stable. That doesn't mean I'm never confused, broken down, or fed up. It means I have words for these feelings and their expressions, and that helps me to present them as transitory states. They are all part of life. They are not end points, and they're not to be stridently avoided like pits of quicksand.

If you are not awake as a parent, you will do what you do. But you won't necessarily have reasons for it, you won't have words to describe it, and you won't be able to present that path as a choice, with both benefits and drawbacks. I want my kids to have choices. Having choices means you can weather whatever hard feelings come with the drawbacks of the choice. Coping with hard feelings involves 1) being rested, fed, and not overwhelmed, and also 2) being able to distract oneself and re-focus on something helpful or positive.


Here are my current conundrums, as I nurture, protect, and teach my developing humans:

1. How do I teach that # 2 above (distraction/re-focusing) to a 6-yr old? By modeling it? By lecturing? By supporting him through micro-doses of those experiences? Some combination of all of these?

2. Then there's also this piece about me--my basic rights and needs, like the right to not be driven crazy by my kids' nit-picky and ever-changing preferences. That is pretty easy. Deeper still is my need for self-esteem. How do you tease out the self-esteem that might come from being a "good" mom--after all, it's a LOT of work--and the self-esteem that I need to bring with me to the party?

3. How affronted should I be by my kids' behavior? How much affront is OK to express?

4. How do I separate when they need to go through something themselves and they object strongly? How do I know when to not take their behavior personally?

5. How do I balance what my kids appear able to handle with the real or perceived demands/expectations of the culture? How do I learn about age-appropriate behavior and, once I do, protect my kids and allow them to be below the curve (above the curve isn't ever a concern, is it?).

The Amazing, Invisible Mama!

She was having a hard time. She was the mom of a 5 month old baby, and for the first time in a very long time, she wasn't sure that her work, her life, was valuable enough. This mama, who I will call Mama (actually, it is her real name!), posted on one of my favorite listservs, and I immediately knew I had to respond.

Here's part of her post:

"I have been struggling with the idea of my identity now that I am not working and letting my husband support me...I have always had female role models that worked and worked hard outside of the home. I don't really want that for myself (I think)...I know that I am working hard as a mom, but it just seems unfair for him that he has to be gone and at work so that we have the
luxury of having a family. Is this just the way it works and I need to get used to it? Seems so
domestic role-ish, which is not how I pictured my life being going into my thirties."


Here's what I told her. Some folks said they liked my response a lot, and the truth is, I liked it! So here you go, faithful blog readers:


Dear Mama,

I can totally relate to your struggle.I have a 5 y/o son and a 2 y/o daughter. I have been working for $ since I was a teenager and I really miss bringing home a paycheck for my work. I have been a full-time working mom and a part-timer work-at-home mom, and my
feeling is that, if you have kids, you always feel like a giant piece of taffy somehow.

The one thing I wanted to tell you is to be kind to yourself. Becoming a mom is a huge journey. Those tensions will keep...they're not going anywhere and you will both have time to reflect upon them and also relax into them as time goes on. Some days you will feel like a freeloader, other days like a complete badass who makes the world turn! I have a feeling that when it's time to go back to work, you will know it, and you will know what the right next step is.

You should know about about Marilyn Waring, who in the 1970s was elected to the New Zealand Parliament at the age of 22. She went on to work on a budgetary committee, in which capacity she learned all about the ways that countries calculate metrics like GDP and GNP. She
discovered that, all across the planet Earth, women's work is invisible, in an economic sense. She wrote some books, including one called, "If Women Counted," and she's now a public policy professor.

I bring this up because sometimes I feel like my work doesn't count, like I've fallen off the map of life somehow, because I don't go to a "job," and because my "customers" ignore and/or scream at me a lot. Because my work involves being patient and often, sitting on the floor, one could imagine that I eat bon bons all day. Though in reality, I work my tail off.

If you feel this way too, you have good reasons! A woman can work hard, producing goods, i.e., children who will become productive members of society, and performing services, like taking care of family members, helping neighbors, running the PTA, etc., and yet at the end of her life, she may be seen as a drain on the system because all of that work doesn't "count." I had a friend who had to go work at her husband's store so she could rack up some $ toward her Social
Security, because "all" she had done before that was raise three kids!

It's a crazy planet, this Earth! Our society is a giant funny mirror! We're all mixed up!

I loved reading the book "Parenting for a Peaceful World," by Dr. Robin Grille. Grille argues that, throughout history, every advancement in democracy, social justice, and better treatment of the
environment has been preceded by an improvement in the treatment of children. Reading this book reassured me, beyond doubt, that the work we do as parents is the most important work of all in the grand scheme.

I recommend that you spend some time thinking and maybe journaling about what would make you feel that your days are productive enough to "count." Especially since it doesn't seem like it's your DH who is complaining. You get to decide what "enough" looks like! You are the one who gets to find a million bucks in the smile of your little cutie-booty.

No Spanking at Sea World

I think this is a good rule. If anyone from Sea World or the Anheuser-Busch corporation reads my blog, promise me you'll do everything in your power to make this a real rule.

My friends J & R went to Sea World with their 5-yr old. On an absolutely sweltering Texas summer day. Along with about 500 million other families. As they were going in, J happened to notice a group of several families, adults and kiddos, also entering. For some reason, they caught her eye. Well, later on that day, J & R stopped at some place in the park, and the same cluster of families was nearby. By this time, one of the kids was crying, and his dad was losing patience with him. Well, before you can say "Shamu," J sees the dad pick up his kid by the arm and begin whacking him on the behind. Right there, in front of everyone.

Now my friend J is not some meek bystander type. So she courageously walks up to the guy and asks, "Do you need to take a break?" And he asks her to repeat herself, so she does. He tells her he does, in fact, not need a break. J says, "That's going to stay with him for the rest of his life." To which Bruiser replies, "I want it to stay with him for the rest of his life." And then his wife, in what J described as a sticky sweet tone, walks up to interrupt, saying, "Ma'am? This doesn't concern you. Please move on." J replied that when someone chooses to physically discipline their child in front of her child, it actually does concern her. And the wife just repeated herself until J moved on.

I think there should be a whole website devoted to how to approach people who spank or shame their kids in public. Because although I so admire J's nerve, I can imagine being totally taken aback, and not knowing what to say, when this dad responded as he did. Someone (maybe even me!) needs to create a place where folks can find (and give) words to say in these moments. Because even if the parents are convinced that what their doing is the very best, one stranger chiming in with a different perspective could get through to that kid. And he might remember it and think back on it when he, for example, grows up and wants to understand why he has certain problems he may have.

When I heard the story, here's what I wish J had said: "Even the most hardcore proponents of spanking say that you shouldn't do it in anger, and you seem kinda angry. And you're at Sea World. And the tickets are REALLY expensive, and I doubt you worked so hard and saved up that much money so you could come here and hit your kid."

The Intelligent Edge

I am nuts about yoga.

Since the beginning of last year, I have taken a yoga class at 7:30 a.m. almost every single Saturday morning. Now, to some, once a week might not be much, but I'm a mom, I'm super busy, and I get what I get. On Saturdays, what I do is wake up before everyone else in my house and quietly run out the door to my class. This year I have added a Wednesday morning class, as well as some brief and sporadic home practice (generally the kids begin to climb on me or exhort me to try postures they make up) and some meditation before I go to sleep.

The teacher I started with on Saturday mornings, Jenny D., is a wise guru trapped in a hot blonde, surfer girl body. Her class is very challenging, and she has the most amazing things to say about how yoga can help you live your life better. She says things like, "Yoga is about breathing into uncomfortable positions, both on and off the mat." "Everyone who can do X (a handstand, an arm balance, etc.) used to not be able to do it." and "The sign of an advanced yogi is that he/she can fall and get back up, all with a smile."

In yoga they talk about finding something they call the "intelligent edge." That's the place where you are just a teensy bit beyond comfortable, but not yet causing damage to yourself. In yoga and in life, the goal is to be present and aware, and then to attempt things with an eye on playing around with our limits.

Tight hamstrings? Tension in the shoulders? There are postures for these, and more, in yoga. You start where you are, and you push into your intelligent edge, a little bit each time. You don't have to "do" it the way your neighbor in class does, you just try. And it's amazing how all of that trying adds up. One day I absolutely SHOCKED myself when I tried to do a headstand, all the while thinking to myself, "there's just no way!". Lo and behold, that was the day that all of that trying accumulated into doing. My core muscles engaged, my feet FLEW up, and before I could say, "there's just no way!" one more time, I was flipping over! After which, of course, I smiled and tried again.

But the reason why I'm crazy about yoga is not what it's done for my body but rather what it has done for my mind and my ability to cope with my life's challenges. It's all the same: try it, find the place where it starts to feel challenging, and breathe into it. Watch what happens. Breathe some more.

Difficult relatives? Smile. Try. Breathe into it.

Defiant toddler? Breathe some more. Sit down on the floor at eye level. Try.

Torrential hail storm destroy the back window on your minivan? Stay present. Breathe. Try.

For every moment that you experience as not going your way, it's all the same: Keep breathing. Try. Forgive yourself. Smile. Try again. It is lighter than you think. It all passes.

I'm Not Sleep Deprived!

How much sleep do I really need? Apparently, not so much, according to this article

Daniel Kripke, co-director of research at the Scripps Clinic Sleep Center in La Jolla, CA, compared the death rates among over 1 million American adults.

How much sleep is ideal? (drum roll, please!)...

folks who sleep between 6.5 and 7.5 hours per night live the longest. Which is good news for me, since that's about how many zzzz's I get in an average night, and since I plan to live to be 100.

All this time with my kiddos, I've been so worried about not getting enough sleep. It turns out I'm paving the way for longevity.

I Hate Cats

Well, just one cat, really. He belongs to my neighbor. I met him last week, on my big kid's birthday, just as I was frosting cupcakes. I heard a big scuffle out on the porch, where our mailbox is, inside of which was a nest full of baby birds. For the past three years, the birds (at least I assume they're the same birds) have built a nest in our box.

The first year, we put up a big sign on the mailbox, warning folks that there was a nest inside. We also put a big box on the porch so the mail carrier could use it instead of our mailbox for awhile. All of this was very exciting, as well as educational, for my big kid. The problem that first year was that the sign on the mailbox was too exciting. People would read the sign and the next thing we knew, they'd feel compelled to look inside the box. A few people almost got whapped in the face by the startled bird as she flew out. But after the babies came, the peeking in was too much for the mama. She abandoned her babies and they all died. That was not exciting, yet it was educational for Big Kid, when we had to bury the nest and babies.

The second year was our most successful yet. The second sign said "STOP!" at the top, followed by some warning language. This sign was more effective than the first, as was my story of woe about what happened the previous year. The babies hatched and we got to enjoy their little chirps and watch the big birds care for them until they learned to fly. One day, imperceptibly, one of the babies flew into our house! He/she was so tiny I probably would never have noticed, only I heard the "cheep! cheep!" and it was louder than normal, so I followed it until I discovered it was coming from under a desk in the living room. Big Kid and I carefully opened the door, and away the bird went.

This year, at the first sign of construction, we put up the sign and put out the box. Over the next month, the birds came and went. For awhile I wouldn't see or hear them, and I wondered if this was one of several potential nests--like a construction contractor who takes on a new job and then doesn't come back for several weeks because he has other projects to work on. But lo! The other day we heard the "cheep! cheep!" in the box, and we saw the big birds coming and going.


So anyway, on Big Kid's birthday, I heard a ton of noise out there, and it took awhile to register because I was so distracted with the festivities. When I finally went out to look, I saw a scrawny orange cat, wearing a collar, who was involved in an altercation with the birds. Two big birds flew around screaming at him. A squirrel on a nearby tree joined in the hollering. As I looked out my front window, the cat darted back toward the house, picked up a bird in his mouth, and skulked away. I ran for the broom, thinking I could scare the cat and free the bird, but I was too slow.

So then I put a post on my street's listserv, asking if any of the neighbors owned the cat and could possibly do something to help keep him away from the babies. A day or so later, after a couple of other sympathetic responses, the cat's owner posted. He gave me a condescending lecture about how cat kill birds, but that he didn't blame the cat. He told me that I should not let birds set up a nest in my mailbox, for the sake of both the birds and the mailman. (He didn't even say "mail carrier," he said "mailman," despite the fact that sometimes the "mailman" is a woman." grrrrr...).

I wanted to write back so many things to my neighbor, but I didn't. I thought of everyone else on the list who just didn't need to be involved in my ire. Instead, I said, "I will give that some thought." This is my standard response when someone is saying something to me which a) I think is completely retarded, b) I intend to ignore, and/or c) I would be wasting my breath to give an honest answer to.

So now the birds are gone. My friend Cynthia thinks the big birds came and moved the babies away, and my husband thinks they learned to fly well enough to get to safety. In any case, I have Empty Nest Syndrome. Happy Trails, birdies!

Five

Tomorrow is my big kid's 5th birthday. Ever since I was pregnant with him, people--strangers, acquaintances, relatives, friends--have told me how quickly children grow up. They say things like, "Savor every moment!" Well, there have been a lot of moments in five years, and I sure didn't savor every one of them. But I know I have done my absolute best to be present, engaged, and responsive as much as I possibly could.

All at once, it both feels like every bit of five years have gone by (maybe even longer?), and like all of sudden, my baby is a big kid. Of course it wasn't sudden. Of course I somehow survived and managed through each stage of his infancy, toddlerhood, and preschooler-ness. There are moments when motherhood feels like it is sucking the very marrow out of my being. I have, somehow, endured the powerful tension of allowing my identity to be consumed, for a time, by my small child. I have sacrificed income and some amount of external reward. I have read enough about child development over the past five years to have earned at least the equivalent of a Master's degree, and yet I'm not checking my mailbox for a diploma, because there won't be one. I have sought out experts and amateurs alike who offered me support for the very labor intensive brand of parenting to which I have been called. And as I result, I have learned to let roll off my back, like a duck, the comments of people who "compliment" me on my "patience" in a way that smacks of criticism. I have waited out the rough stages of my son's development, holding my tongue much of the time--instead, watching and listening for clues as to what he might possibly be trying to tell me with his sometimes infuriating behavior, and searching for the right moment to attempt to influence him.

And now, it feels like a storm has passed. I see glimpses of a big kid--a kid who can, at least for short spells, delay gratification, who can at least approximate empathy, who can be thoughtful and helpful. I see a child who described to me, after a half-day solo visit to a potential Kindergarten, what it felt like to almost start to cry when the reality of my absence first set in: "It started in my stomach and went up into my throat...I just kept it inside." This one comment, to me, was the blossom of my endless efforts to teach him to name and feel his feelings, something that is my biggest goal as a parent and, I believe, the cornerstone of his future as a person who can flow with life's challenges.

But the moments that really thrill me are those in which I see a child whose face absolutely lights up with joy. Mind you, he may be lighting up about saying, "Bot-tom, bot-tom, bot-tom!!" in a loud voice--he's five, after all--but still. When parents say, "but it's all worth it," they're talking about those kinds of moments. I see my big kid laughing, or being inquisitive, or trying to figure something out--in essence, being as robust and engaged in life as I have endeavored to be with him--and I allow myself an inner celebratory "Woo Hoo!" As if some of my words and gestures have actually sunk in. In which case all of the hassle and sacrifice has truly been worth it.

His turning five is whetting my appetite for a chance to regain some things for myself: to be the mom who sits and reads a book while her kids swim at the pool; to be like my neighbor who has a few girlfriends over for wine and chatter in the evening; to see my kids become more and more self-sufficient and less like tiny cyclones who scatter toys and books in their wake. When I allow myself to look forward to those days, I realize how much I have really surrendered to these ones. Who knew? In my own way, I suppose, I have savored every moment.