HomeFull Moons and Safety Glass
Full Moons and Safety Glass
Balancing money, time, self, and family
Member Since: April 14, 2008 Last Signed In: November 25, 2008 Blog Views: 2434 Send To A Friend Sign Guestbook Add as a Friend
Strategies for Stress
Let Me Entertain You Elevated Here Kitty, Kitty What's in Your Trash? Ain't Nothin' Normal About It YouTube for the Rest of Them Toddler Speak 3:24:12 Henry Paulson and Southwest Airlines April 08 May 08 June 08 July 08 August 08 September 08 October 08 November 08 December 08 
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Ah…the holidays are upon us. Food, family, festivities and well…falling down exhaustion. I do love the family-hanging-out-and-building-memories aspect of the holidays. I love watching my kids get excited and torqued up. I love the eating and the lying around in a post-holiday buzz.
It’s amazing how spending money and planning meals can wear me down. Not wear me out…wear…me…down. To a nub, a pathetic shell of my former self. Not that my former self is something that my pathetic shell should use for comparison. My former self has been sick for ten days, working like a dog, and has been so crabby and tired, that former self is in no condition to take on The Holidays. Also, I must be Some Kind of Genius because I decided to start Weight Watchers two weeks before Thanksgiving. Nothing like adding a little calorie consumption anxiety to the mix. Well, irregardless of that, the holidays are here. And, contend with them I must. To shore up my reserves I have been searching for ideas about how to manage and proactively plot a path to decimating holiday stress. I have scoured the internet and I pulled together a list that seemed perfectly...um... reasonable. 1. Plan ahead 2. Don’t over-plan 3. Ask for help 4. Cut yourself slack 5. Meditate 6. Exercise 7. Keep it simple 8. Stay on budget 9. Stock up on red wine 10. Wrap your presents in advance and stick them in plastic containers in the garage (OK…numbers 9 and 10 are my personal suggestions, you can disregard them if you want…I just wanted to have 10 items on my list) The list seems reasonable, but I’m not sure how realistic it is (except the wine part). And so, I started looking for some other options. Last week, another option came to me. First it came to me on a plane ride home from a work trip. Then, it came to me again while I was sitting watching Ava at gymnastics. Knitting. Knitting is calming…its repetitive, mindless, and leaves you with a sense of accomplishment. The women I watched at gymnastics and on the plane seemed so content, so calm. There is only one problem. I can’t knit. And…I don’t have the time or patience to learn to knit before Thursday. So, I wracked my brain trying to think of something analogous to knitting that might help get me through the next six weeks. Something repetitive. Something mindless. Something with a sense of accomplishment…Picking up after my kids. And just think…no one has to teach me how to do it.
Recently I have been having the same conversation over and over again. I talk about it with friends, family, co-workers, and even complete strangers. The conversation centers around one of the current tenets of parenting that I have come to dread:
Thou Art Thy Children’s Half-Time Entertainment Will someone please explain to me when this happened? My parents weren’t what I would call overly engaged with my sister and myself, but we also weren’t ignored. We did, however, did carry the burden of keeping ourselves busy. Sometimes we played together other times we flew solo. To put an even finer point on it, I spent the first nine years of my life living amongst American ex-patriots in a foreign country without easy access to television for distraction. Also, I’m a Gen X-er, so my childhood took place before a plethora of children’s movies had infiltrated the universe of video stores. Heck, we barely had video stores. Video games were few and far between. I did like to rock the Speak and Spell (ironic, considering how deplorable my spelling is today). These days, I watch the parents I know run around, spending time and money to keep their kids busy--gymnastics, dance, sports, music, martial arts. We make ourselves crazy trying to figure out how to occupy their weekends, rainy days and—gasp—their summers. Children’s TV and movies proliferate and video games are geared to the “whole family” experience. I nearly died laughing the day I saw Wii Music advertised on TV…you and your family could use the Wii controllers to select an instrument to “play” (maracas, drums, bells) and then the whole family could play a song. In my house, we could just go raid the box of kid instruments and do exactly the same thing with, ahem, real instruments (maracas, drums, bells). Aaaaah…I digress. I’m not really a curmudgeon about video games or kids TV. We have a Wii and my husband and I have been known to rely on the “square nanny” (as my husband calls the TV) when trying to get a moment’s peace. I also unequivocally love spending time with my kids. I enjoy exposing them to new experiences and plan to continue to support their interests and hobbies. For example, last weekend, I took the girls to the Exploratorium in San Francisco. At two and four, the science of the museum was wasted on them, but they were thrilled to run around what is essentially a giant warehouse full of buttons and levers to push or pull. Instant gratification and cause and effect were the order of the day. We had a great time, the three of us playing together. As the day ended, we perused the gift shop. Both girls were able to pick out one thing to buy and take home. Ava selected a magnetic face with the tiny shredded magnets that can be pulled around by a magnetic pencil to make hair, mustaches, and beards. Carmen choose a great deck of 4x6 Eric Carle animal alphabet cards. And that’s when the trouble started. Since last Saturday, just eight short days ago, I have engaged in the following activity no less than forty times:
Last night, I dreamt about the blue hippo and brown xolo. ARGH! So, for all of us who have sat through our 1 millionth tea party, colored with sidewalk chalk until our fingers have bled, or worried that the Xbox component would sell out before Christmas…I say…take a breath. Take a breath and realize that the sound that you hear is the sound of the kids learning to play on their own, refining their own imaginations, expanding their sense of creativity, and solving their own problems. Don’t worry…you’ll have plenty of time to spend time with them in a little while. Their attention span only lasts 8.5 minutes. PS--In the time it took be to write and post this blog, I was asked three times to engage in the Eric Carle card game. PSS--I didn't know what a zolo was before we bought the cards.
This week, I traveled to San Diego for an overnight work trip with a coworker. This particular coworker happens--like many of us--to have a life outside of work and her family. In her "outside life" she is a single mom, working to put her amazing daughter through college. She is also a spoken word artist and poet. I have never had the opportunity to see her perform her poetry, mostly because I have basically no outside life. An outside life would provide me opportunities to do interesting things, including supporting local artists. Instead, the local artists that I support live in my house. Mostly they like coloring with crayons or painting with watercolors. Not quite the same thing.
When I figured out that we would be traveling together, I put in a request that since we had to stay the night, anyway, could she please find a spoken word venue so that I could finally check it out. As much time as I’ve spent in theaters, I’ve never had the opportunity to see any spoken word poetry. Sure, I have flipped passed it on TV, but I guessed it would be much different in person. Boy was it ever. In a word, it was amazing. As we arrived, we saw a line crawling around the building. Making our way up to the door, my coworker (who had never been to San Diego before) was recognized by the staff and others. She was on the guest list. She was on list to perform. I was on no list, but I was willing to ride on her coattails. For the record, I would have been more than happy to pay the $7 cover charge. No one asked, though. The inside of the venue was packed and we stood along the wall. Most of the crowd was African American, but a little of everything was sprinkled throughout. Most of the crowd was in their late twenties, but like the racial sprinkling, there was a little of everything (including some young children of the poets). The inside was dim with a single spotlight on a mic in the middle of what is usually a dance floor. Behind the mic sat a DJ at a table. White folding chairs were set up around three sides of the mic, leaving an open space about a 12 by 12 space for the performer. If I had to guess, I'd say about 250 people were in the space. Each poet had four minutes to perform. Some used the DJ and some didn’t. Some read their poems and some had their material memorized. Some used the mic and some left it alone. Some poets were white, while most were not. Some were men and some were women. Some were young and some were older. My coworker blew me away, and, judging by the reaction of the crowd at the conclusion of her set (or whatever it is called), she was clearly one of the favorites of the night. I felt artsy and cool by proxy. And let’s be clear…I am not artsy and cool. The crowd fully participated during the show by calling out and responding to things that were said during performances. They also did this weird thing when a poet would slide up to the mic and say “How are ya’ll tonight?” In an instant, they entire room (except me) would respond “Elevated!” I had no idea what this meant. I never joined in with the refrain, concerned that it might have some unknown subtext that a white, 35-year-old mother with a baby belly was unsuited to assume. Later, when I asked my coworker why they were saying it, she told me that “Elevated” was the name of the show. Undoubtedly, the highlight of the night were the featured poets, Steve Connell and Sekou. These guys put together an amazing set, including a couple of poems that they had written, and then, performed together. Their set was highly political and heavily liberal, but their opening “Take America Back” carried an intense resonance given the historic election results of this week. A link to a version of the poem is below, although, I have to say that the version we saw last night was longer and the missing additions were some of the best parts of the poem (in my uninformed, inexperienced opinion). http://www.youtube.com/watc... Whether you agree with the politics or not, whether the American black experience is something you can relate to or not…I totally recommend finding a way to support local poets and get out to one of these events. Since I found out I was pregnant, I have been impatiently waiting to drag my children to the theater, take them art museums all over the world, expose them to different types of musical experiences, and introduce them to a couple of guys named William Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde. I am delighted to add that I cannot wait to take them a poetry event. If I am lucky, they might even take a turn at the mic. And then I would, indeed, feel el-e-va-ted!
Our family, like so many others, has officially survived Halloween. This year, both my girls were in full-Halloween mode, bringing much chaos and candy to our house. To be honest, our Halloween preparations began months ago. Ava (my four year old) announced to me one day that She Had Decided what our family would be for Halloween. It was simple, really, and ingenious in its own way…Daddy would be a dog, Mommy would be a cat, she would be a mouse, and Carmen…well, Carmen would be a piece of cheese.
A piece of cheese. Nice. No, I wouldn’t actually let my two-year-old dress up as a piece of cheese, although truth be told, I actually loved the idea Ava had sketched out. I just knew it would never, ever fly. While everyone else in the family got to dress as something cute and cuddly, Carmen would unequivocally refuse to dress in a cheese costume. Let’s face it…Carmen is two…she unequivocally refuses to do most things. Strangely, though...Carmen, when asked, did want to dress as a dog. I asked and then confirmed again and again. Yes, she really did want to be a dog. No, she did not want to be a cat like her big sister. She wanted to be a dog. A doooooooooooooooooog, Mommy. So, well in advance of Halloween I traipsed to Target with Carmen in tow. She picked out her costume, she tried it on at home and, shockingly, did not appear to hate it. In fact, she appeared to like it. Well done, Mom…well done, indeed. Now, sometime between The Great Cheese Incident and Halloween something happened. Carmen began an imaginary-to-everyone-else-but-very-real-to-her friendship with the big, grey, furry feline mascot of the Sacramento Rivercats. Dinger became a fixture in her conversations. “No Mommy, I can’t kiss you goodnight, I have to kiss Dinger” or “Dinger likes to sing that song, you can’t sing it!” or “I need have hot chocolate so I can share it with Dinger”. At least I think this is what she was saying. I still find it hard to understand half of what she says, even with my Mommy ears finely tuned to her conversations. Converations she is having with herself or (I assume) between herself and Dinger. The weird thing about her fascination with Dinger is that she has only seen Dinger two times in her life: once at a Rivercats game from about 150 yards away and once at the Salmon Festival in October where he danced around the kids giving out free hugs to all the kids who weren’t terrified of a six-foot cat in a baseball uniform. Carmen has always liked cats, especially the cat that belongs to my neighbor (but who insists on living on our back deck). Usually, though, she is standoffish with big, strange things that seem unnatural—like, say, a six-foot cat in a baseball uniform. So, I should have seen it coming. The Saturday before Halloween, the girls were getting dressed for the Harvest Festival at Ava’s preschool. Ava and I both had our cat outfits on, complete with painted on whiskers. I took out her dog outfit and Carmen looked right at me. Without saying a thing, I knew. I knew she would not wear the dog costume. I knew that I would have been better off flushing $25 down the toilet than spending it at Target. I also knew that I, in fact, had arrived. I had arrived as a Seasoned Mother. Before she could begin to howl and fuss, I reached into the plastic bag sitting on my bed and pulled out the pink, size two leopard costume I had bought at the last minute at the Halloween store. Like I said, I'm no rookie.
Well, it must be Halloween, because there is a pair of big, rubber b*obs in my kitchen trash can.
Haunting, indeed.
Normally, I don't use my blog space to complain and vent. Normally, I take the high road, find the humor in my crazy life as a working mom of two young girls. Normally, I look for a common theme that links me back, grounds me, keeps things in perspective.
Normally. But normally doesn't apply right now. There is nothing normal about the way that my four-year-old is acting right now. At least not normal for a four-year-old. Normal, maybe, for a pre-menses 12 year old--histrionics, dramatic mood swings, unnecessary anxiety. For a four-year-old? Seriously? If this is what I have to look forward to...well...there isn't enough wine in Napa to get me through the high school years. Oh. My. God. She has been over the top awful. Lots of upheaval in her life these days for sure--a new part time preschool program slotted around her regular full-day day care program, transitions that have led to her being separated from her school and gymnastics buddies, a mom who has been traveling a lot, etc, etc. My normally outgoing kid is so dang articulate, she can actually talk about the whole range of emotions she is going through right now ("nervous", "lonely", "frustrated"). Paul and I have worked so hard to help her name her emotions, but at the end of the day, she is still just a four-year-old who doesn't know what to do with all of those normal emotions. Well, kid, welcome to the club. I, too, have reached my emotional limit. I took Friday off so that I could talk with her new preschool teacher and spend some uninterrupted one-on-one time with her. Normally, this would have done the trick. She would have been recalibrated. Today, I left work early AGAIN after only three hours in the office. And, I'm looking at working only a half day on Wednesday so that I can try--once again--to observe her in her classroom environment and talk with her teachers. Well...I am over it. And by "it", I mean the stress, anxiety, guilt, and frustration that has completely engulfed me. Oh, sure, I could write on and on about the myriad of experiences that have transpired over the past month. But...what's the point? In the end, I'm sure I would just get a bunch of unsolicited-though-well-meaning advice about how normal these incidences are in the grand scheme of of a smart four-year-old. I'd probably even hear warnings like "oh, you think you have problems now...wait until she is 15." Bleh. Instead, I just want to wallow in self pity, frustration, and exhaustion and wait for things to get back to, well, normal. Like many parents of young children, I often find myself harkening back to the simpler time of my own childhood. Back to the days of four TV channels, Laura Ingalls Wilder, roller skates with a stopper, trips to the library, and the Muppets. My girls have at least ten children’s channels to choose from, plus an unlimited amount of options on DVD and TiVo. I won’t even go into the vast amount of books, clothes, toys, and activities at their disposal. It’s enough to make their Generation X mother’s head spin. I mean, I want my kids to have choices and opportunities to find their bliss (blah…blah…blah), but I feel like all of the “stuff” they have access to it a little over the top. No, actually…I know it is over the top. But, I have discovered The Great Equalizer. YouTube. In a manner of seconds, I can transport the girls to the childhood of my past…the Muppets, the Electric Company, and countless others. In addition to all of that, the girls and I have rifled around the vast number of YouTube clips and found some new favorites. Well, favorites for them anyway. I find most of it mind numbing. A dancing cat, a purple hippo singing “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”, a Sims version of “Barbie Girl”. You get the picture. Here are some links to the current popular favorites. http://www.youtube.com/watc... http://www.youtube.com/watc... http://www.youtube.com/watc... http://www.youtube.com/watc... http://www.youtube.com/watc... http://www.youtube.com/watc... So, I suffer through the 2 minutes and 49 seconds of video clip as the girls giggle, clap, and point to the screen. Two minutes and 49 seconds may not seem like that long, but because YouTube provides suggestions for additional clips as the first clip is ending, this process can go on forever, and ever, and ever, and ever…
My four-year-old is so verbal, sometimes I forget that my two-year-old is stumbling through early language development. Like her older sister, Carmen’s first baby signs and words occurred early and she has continued to talk ever since. And talk. And talk. And talk.
Basically, Paul and I never have any peace and quiet at home. Most of what Carmen says provides some discernable snippets as to what she is actually trying to communicate. We can usually understand her--maybe because we’re the parents--but I would like to think that the rest of the world would be able to put together at least 75% of what she is saying. At least when talking with her in person. I’m not sure I could project this as boldly with the phone conversations she participates in. Despite her verbal acumen there are still some things that trip us up. Most notably, her ability to interject extra syllables into words. Here are some examples: He-yelp = Help No-wah = No Neck-a-less = Necklace Yea-ah = Yeah Die-a-per = Diaper Why-ah = Why Of course, she has also perfected the Toddler Art of shortening words as well, my favorite one being: Pooter = Computer. I guess @TEOTD, all of this Toddler Speak, will in some way, prepare me for the day at age 13 when she will only communicate with me through a completely unintelligible text message. I should be grateful for the extra syllables while I have them. Otherwise, MEGO, and I won't have a clue as to what she'll be saying. AAR8, it all makes me feel old and unable to understand her, so I guess I should get used to it. NISM? CFN Confused? Check out this website for clarification: www.netlingo.com
Well…I did it. Yesterday I moved my hip flexers and feet for 3 hours, 24 minutes, and 12 seconds. That is, I finished the Sacramento Cowtown Half Marathon—my first walking half marathon (13.1 miles). And, I did it in less than three and a half hours, which was my goal.
Actually, my real goal was to get moving again. Since my first daughter was born over four years ago I have felt like a couch potato, a bump on a log, the lazy dog that the quick brown fox keeps jumping over. Damn that quick brown fox, I was so sick of him taunting me. Last March, I decided that the only way out of it was to set a physical goal. A goal that would apply a little public pressure and public shaming if I backed out. I committed myself to walking a half marathon and then I told everyone I knew that I had committed to it. That way, I couldn’t back out. Even when my dad and sister, with whom I had originally planned to walk, did back out. I stayed the course. Sort of. The three of us had originally planned to congregate in Colorado Springs over Labor Day (my dad is in Texas, I am in Sacramento, and my sister is in Denver). That didn’t work out for one reason or another, so I recalibrated and signed up for the Cowtown which was as close to the original goal date as I could find. I couldn’t back out, even when I realize that I wasn’t losing a single pound. Not a single, stupid pound. Now, don’t start with all that “muscle weighs more than fat” crap, I don’t want to hear it. Not a single pound. ARGH. I couldn’t back out, even after I realized how dang bor-ing it is to walk for more than two hours at a time. I know I should have had some kind of “walking buddy”, but my summer schedule was too erratic. I would have just frustrated a walking buddy. Thank god for audio books and iTunes. By June, I was so sick of the music on my iPod, I thought I would barf. Audio books got me through. I couldn't back out when, after four straight days of wearing heels last week at my annual conference screwed up my right foot. I was actually really nervous that I wouldn't make it, but the top of my foot didn't hurt at all during the race. Whew. Finally, I couldn’t back out, even when I realized that I had probably under-trained. Truth be told, the most mileage I had logged on a training walk was 10 miles. I didn’t even usually walk more than twice a week. But, I did notice about two months ago that six miles was starting to come pretty easily. And, I thought…well…if six is coming easy…how hard can 13.1 really be? Well…it wasn’t that hard. It wasn’t especially fun after about mile 11, but it wasn’t that hard, either. In the end, I met my goal and made some significant progress towards getting my athletic endurance back up so that I can enjoy the outdoor activities that I love: snow skiing, hiking, and cycling. It was also great having my husband, kids, and cranky wiener dog at the finish line. Even if the girls did continue to ask me all day if I had "won" the race. Walking got me moving again. For that I am grateful. But, I’m ready to hit the bike path on an actual bike. Like many working moms, I struggle with the balance of work and family. This is especially true when I have to travel for work. I make the "big bucks" in the household budget, so "big bucks" leads to occational travel, especially in my line of work. Luckily for me, I have a husband who is generally accepting of this and usually supportive. Even if it does mean that bathtime is skipped while I am out of town. Paul may be understanding, but the kids are not as generous. In an effort to grossly overcompensate for the travel, I carry the kids' art work with me in a folder (a practice I learned from my ever-travelling father) and, when possible, I take them to breakfast the morning that I fly out. And...like so many other mornings..breakfast out is what I did this morning. Taking two kids ages four and two out for breakfast is not, generally, enjoyable. By the time I finish cutting up their pancakes, they are done eating and asking to leave. I, on the other hand, have not even salted my eggs much less scarfed down my food. Leaving is out of the question. Leaving would not provide Mommy with her required and necessary sustainance...coffee. Mommy is NO FUN without her coffee. We labored through our breakfast. We talked about their upcoming days. I encouraged them to listen to Daddy, sleep in their own beds, and not bicker with each other. I promised them presents upon my return. I assured them of frequent phone calls, both at home and at day care. After breakfast, we headed over to the bank. I needed cash to get me through cab rides, bellman tips, and dinner. Pulling up to the ATM, my four year old asked: "Mommy, why do you need to go to the bank?" "Well, this is where we keep our money?" "Why do you keep your money here?" "It is safer at the bank, honey." "Why is it safer at the bank than at home?" Gee...good question. |
