Last week, my oldest child started high school. I will admit to having a bit of a freakout session a couple of weeks before school started, thinking about all the things I had to get done and what the year would bring, as far as transporting even just my high schooler around, much less his other three school age siblings. That was just about me and how I was going to cope with high school. Then I was freaking out about how he was going to cope with high school. His high school is the size of a small college campus, and I can barely navigate that place, but it's normal to the people here. The list of fears for him was rather extensive and increasingly preposterous, but nonetheless real. And here we are a week in and he hasn't come home crying even once. He's even taken the city bus home a couple of times without incident.
When he started kindergarten, I was so relieved to have time apart every day that I didn't think about what it meant--plus I had two other kids at home to deal with who were very needy and busy. The craziest thing about it to me was that I remembered kindergarten from my own life, and now my son would have that set of memories, and they don't include me. Up to that point, we were together most of the time and I had input (not control--ha!) in what we did and how things went, and I could see how he was behaving and stuff. And now, suddenly, I was turning him over to someone we had never met. But I was grateful! (The year before he went to kindergarten was hard--he was 4, his little brother was 2, I was pregnant. Rough year.) It was a great first year of school for all of us.
But honestly, my memories of kindergarten and most of elementary school are kind of fuzzy and rosy. High school is a much sharper and closer memory for me. (Even though it's been exactly 20 years since my senior year of high school started!) I remember a lot from high school, good, bad and ugly, and now I have a son who is embarking on that journey. High school is when I started to figure out who I was, find things I loved to learn about, find things I was good at, find things I was not good at, find that people's choices can be hurtful. And I know I felt pretty capable as a teenager in some ways, and he does too, which is hard to remember when I look at him and see the toddler inside the young man he is turning into.
I keep thinking about my kids' getting older and more independent, and what it does to me as a mom, how I respond to that. I remember my mom remarking, often, how much she enjoyed us kids when we were teenagers because she could reason with us and we were fun to talk to. I'm finding the same thing happening to me. I think I laugh more now with my teenager and preteen, in the same way that I would laugh with my siblings when we were young and under the same roof, than I did when my kids were all really small. And I think it surprises them that I a) have a sense of humor and b) have the same sense of humor as they have. We laugh at a lot of the same things.
Sunday, September 2, 2018
Friday, June 3, 2016
Mom Gets Smooth Smoothie, and the World Keeps Spinning
For some reason, I operate under the assumption that either no one cares about my needs and desires, or that my needs and desires are unimportant, or too inconvenient for everyone else to deal with. In my old age, I am trying to teach myself that I have a family and friends who do care very much what I think and need, and that it's really not a big deal to ask for small corrections when my needs are not met. There are times when I have no problem with this, but I am almost always surprised when I get what I want AND no one is deciding to cut off all contact with me because I'm such a pain.
When I am in the midst of a funk, though, it's hard to believe that anyone will listen to me, and even harder to believe that I won't get yelled at or at least an eye roll if I insist on getting what I want.
Such a day was yesterday, when I took my ailing son (who had had a skin infection on his face that by now was totally out of hand--mom fail, hence the funk) for a smoothie. He and I both ordered green smoothies with kale, and his sisters had strawberry ones. The woman making the smoothies called my name and I came over to receive them, and I could see little flecks of green in both cups. Now, when you're having a strawberry or peach smoothie and you can see little chunks, it's not a big deal, but I have had a kale smoothie that wasn't blended quite enough, and it was not a pleasurable experience.
"I can see the kale in this," I boldly pronounced.
"Oh, don't worry, I blended it twice."
"I can see the kale in this," I repeated, pointing to a larger green chunk in the cup. I then proceeded to take a drink of it to prove that I could taste chunks of kale (because, clearly, she would be able to taste it too?).
"I'll just remake that for you."
"Thank you."
And she did. No one had to wait longer, except me and my party of small children, I got no mean looks from anyone, and no one yelled at me for being picky. The result was perfectly smooth, green smoothies that tasted nothing like kale, which, to me, is the whole point of having kale in a smoothie. On our way out, my son said, "I like getting a green one because then nobody wants a taste, and I don't have to share." So we got kale for completely different reasons, I guess, but at least he got some vitamins. And I triumphed over my erroneous assumptions about how the world at large will respond to my getting what I asked for in the first place.
Saturday, May 21, 2016
8 Things I Learned at the Color Run
Today I ran my third Color Run with some of my favorite people. It was in the parking lot of Dodger Stadium, and if you've ever been to a Dodger game, you will have no problem imagining there being enough room for a 5K course AND plenty of parking for the participants. We ran the exact same course last year, so this time I knew what to expect and was totally relaxed. And it truly was the happiest 5K on the planet, as they boldly claim at the Color Run. I had a great time and now that I'm a few hours removed, I realized that I learned a few things about myself today:
1. I am not a safe driver, apparently (wohoo! careering past the Staples Center!), when there is no traffic because it's 7 am on a Saturday. I think I just forgot for a minute who was in the car with me (i.e., not my kids, who enjoy simulated roller coasters wherever they occur in daily life), plus it's exciting to take the 110 on-ramp at freeway speed, since most of the time it's bumper to bumper and takes a good 35 minutes or more. Also, I don't notice the giant sign for the Dodger Stadium Exit until it's almost too late ("Mo! Where are we going, Mo?!" Thank you, third-row backseat drivers!).
2. It feels really good to laugh really hard. I think I've read somewhere that there is such a thing as laugh therapy, and I believe it. Probably some chemicals get released when you laugh so hard that you can't breathe. Either way, it helps elevate my emotional state.
3. I'm still self-conscious about dancing, even with good friends. I don't know what it is. I think I can't play team sports like basketball for the same reason. That's a whole other story, but the short answer is probably pride? I can't seem to get myself to really let loose.
4. I still like to sprint, and I can even be fast sometimes. My kids always beat me everywhere. I have been avoiding running long enough that I started to think I couldn't do it anymore.
5. I can still do a one-handed cartwheel without falling down. Sadly, there is no photographic evidence to substantiate this claim, but I do have several eye witnesses (said witnesses may or may not have tried to sabotage my landing with a banana peel at a later time).
6. True friendship means you can pat colored cornstarch off each other's backsides with impunity.
7. Sometimes, ordering McDonalds at a drive-thru is a party!
8. I am absolutely going to pay for this day tomorrow. (see #3 about avoiding running) Perhaps some Advil is in order.
A nice, hot shower and about 5 blue-snot sneezes later, I'm all clean and ready for a nap!--I mean, ready to face the day and be productive. Because I'm responsible and a mom.
1. I am not a safe driver, apparently (wohoo! careering past the Staples Center!), when there is no traffic because it's 7 am on a Saturday. I think I just forgot for a minute who was in the car with me (i.e., not my kids, who enjoy simulated roller coasters wherever they occur in daily life), plus it's exciting to take the 110 on-ramp at freeway speed, since most of the time it's bumper to bumper and takes a good 35 minutes or more. Also, I don't notice the giant sign for the Dodger Stadium Exit until it's almost too late ("Mo! Where are we going, Mo?!" Thank you, third-row backseat drivers!).
2. It feels really good to laugh really hard. I think I've read somewhere that there is such a thing as laugh therapy, and I believe it. Probably some chemicals get released when you laugh so hard that you can't breathe. Either way, it helps elevate my emotional state.
3. I'm still self-conscious about dancing, even with good friends. I don't know what it is. I think I can't play team sports like basketball for the same reason. That's a whole other story, but the short answer is probably pride? I can't seem to get myself to really let loose.
4. I still like to sprint, and I can even be fast sometimes. My kids always beat me everywhere. I have been avoiding running long enough that I started to think I couldn't do it anymore.
5. I can still do a one-handed cartwheel without falling down. Sadly, there is no photographic evidence to substantiate this claim, but I do have several eye witnesses (said witnesses may or may not have tried to sabotage my landing with a banana peel at a later time).
6. True friendship means you can pat colored cornstarch off each other's backsides with impunity.
7. Sometimes, ordering McDonalds at a drive-thru is a party!
8. I am absolutely going to pay for this day tomorrow. (see #3 about avoiding running) Perhaps some Advil is in order.
A nice, hot shower and about 5 blue-snot sneezes later, I'm all clean and ready for a nap!--I mean, ready to face the day and be productive. Because I'm responsible and a mom.
Friday, May 20, 2016
Why Parents Cry at Concerts
I always wondered why my parents would cry at my middle school and high school concerts. Listening to a recording of said concerts brings tears to my eyes, but probably not for the same reason. In high school our concert band started to sound passable, but still like a high school band, and yet I could always count on my dad welling up by the end of at least one piece.
When my oldest child had his first performance in kindergarten, I definitely welled up--and the performance itself wasn't exceptional. A bunch of 5- and 6-year-olds standing on stage, barely able to be heard over the recorded music that was playing (because kindergarteners can't carry a tune?) is hardly a moving performance from a musical standpoint. But it was my child singing, and he was so cute! I was not the only one in that room surreptitiously brushing tears from my eyes.
Yesterday I was in the kitchen scrambling eggs for a quick dinner before my oldest had a baseball game to get to (later we found out we were 35 minutes late, not 5, for said game). He came in, fresh from practicing bass guitar in his bedroom, balancing on one foot as he pulled his knee-high sock on, and said, "I feel that music excitement, you know, when you start playing in band and it actually sounds good?" and then went on to describe a part in a piece he's working on, and how cool it sounds when the low brass (he plays trombone) comes in "it sounds really rich and cool." He started singing his low brass part and I sang the melody (the trumpets' part).
Later on, at the game, my 7-year-old started dancing to the music the other team played between innings. You could tell he didn't have any plans for the movement, he was just moving because he had to--there was music playing. This is the same boy who sings no matter what he's doing. He watched another kid at the game playing Minecraft on a phone (younger siblings of little leaguers are dedicated fans), so they're basically cheek to cheek, and my little boy is just singing away (It surprised me that no one seemed to be bugged by the incessant singing--his siblings don't appreciate it.).
When I was driving home after the Tupperware party I went to after the game, I was listening to Vivaldi, a recording I've had since I was 12 or so--same Christmas I got my first Sony Discman--and I found it remarkable that sometimes music just resonates in your whole body. There's a visceral connection that happens, and for me, joy. I don't even have to be participating in producing the music to feel like I'm singing, that someone else's wordless performance from 20 years (or more) ago is an extension of my psyche somehow. Of course it's more visceral when you are close enough to it to actually feel the vibration of the sound waves in your core, either performing or just listening live. Some of my favorite memories from high school were the week or so before a concert when our separate band classes would finally get together in an evening rehearsal to put it all together, and I could hear (and feel) whole, rich chords with the low brass, and hear what the clarinets were doing against my flute part, hear what the percussionists were doing. All the voicing would be filled out, and it sounded amazing. And then we would perform and my mom and dad would cry.
I think there was a deeper feeling for at least my dad by then, beyond the fact that I was his child and so cute up on stage, which I am beginning to see now with my oldest being so into music. It was that I was appreciating for myself something that he appreciated so deeply. Before I got into music at school, he was my DJ, and I was exposed to the music he loved at a young age (e.g., Mozart, Vivaldi, Beethoven, Handel, Chopin, Lennon/McCartney). I learned to love them too, and to this day I can pick out recordings by the same conductors and artists he had, because I love them now too. I can recognize in my memory his joy when I would try to describe a "musical excitement" that I was feeling. And that, I am finding, is why (my) parents cry at concerts. It's not that the performances are exceptionally good, although some are, and that makes me cry too. It's the love and enthusiasm and fulfillment you share with your child. Some parents cry at sporting events, some at dance recitals or gymnastics meets or martial arts competitions. In my experience it was music.
When my oldest child had his first performance in kindergarten, I definitely welled up--and the performance itself wasn't exceptional. A bunch of 5- and 6-year-olds standing on stage, barely able to be heard over the recorded music that was playing (because kindergarteners can't carry a tune?) is hardly a moving performance from a musical standpoint. But it was my child singing, and he was so cute! I was not the only one in that room surreptitiously brushing tears from my eyes.
Yesterday I was in the kitchen scrambling eggs for a quick dinner before my oldest had a baseball game to get to (later we found out we were 35 minutes late, not 5, for said game). He came in, fresh from practicing bass guitar in his bedroom, balancing on one foot as he pulled his knee-high sock on, and said, "I feel that music excitement, you know, when you start playing in band and it actually sounds good?" and then went on to describe a part in a piece he's working on, and how cool it sounds when the low brass (he plays trombone) comes in "it sounds really rich and cool." He started singing his low brass part and I sang the melody (the trumpets' part).
Later on, at the game, my 7-year-old started dancing to the music the other team played between innings. You could tell he didn't have any plans for the movement, he was just moving because he had to--there was music playing. This is the same boy who sings no matter what he's doing. He watched another kid at the game playing Minecraft on a phone (younger siblings of little leaguers are dedicated fans), so they're basically cheek to cheek, and my little boy is just singing away (It surprised me that no one seemed to be bugged by the incessant singing--his siblings don't appreciate it.).
When I was driving home after the Tupperware party I went to after the game, I was listening to Vivaldi, a recording I've had since I was 12 or so--same Christmas I got my first Sony Discman--and I found it remarkable that sometimes music just resonates in your whole body. There's a visceral connection that happens, and for me, joy. I don't even have to be participating in producing the music to feel like I'm singing, that someone else's wordless performance from 20 years (or more) ago is an extension of my psyche somehow. Of course it's more visceral when you are close enough to it to actually feel the vibration of the sound waves in your core, either performing or just listening live. Some of my favorite memories from high school were the week or so before a concert when our separate band classes would finally get together in an evening rehearsal to put it all together, and I could hear (and feel) whole, rich chords with the low brass, and hear what the clarinets were doing against my flute part, hear what the percussionists were doing. All the voicing would be filled out, and it sounded amazing. And then we would perform and my mom and dad would cry.
I think there was a deeper feeling for at least my dad by then, beyond the fact that I was his child and so cute up on stage, which I am beginning to see now with my oldest being so into music. It was that I was appreciating for myself something that he appreciated so deeply. Before I got into music at school, he was my DJ, and I was exposed to the music he loved at a young age (e.g., Mozart, Vivaldi, Beethoven, Handel, Chopin, Lennon/McCartney). I learned to love them too, and to this day I can pick out recordings by the same conductors and artists he had, because I love them now too. I can recognize in my memory his joy when I would try to describe a "musical excitement" that I was feeling. And that, I am finding, is why (my) parents cry at concerts. It's not that the performances are exceptionally good, although some are, and that makes me cry too. It's the love and enthusiasm and fulfillment you share with your child. Some parents cry at sporting events, some at dance recitals or gymnastics meets or martial arts competitions. In my experience it was music.
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
lessons from disney movies
i was at the right age when disney movies started getting good again. i was 8 years old when i saw the little mermaid in theaters. or maybe 7. either way, it made a big impact on me. our family would go every summer to see the new disney movie for years, and my child mind learned a few lessons from these movies. since then, i've read a lot of negative things about disney movies, about what they teach to young children and it makes me a little sad. i learned some positive things from disney movies.
1. things are always better if you talk to your parents. i learned this from "the little mermaid." when ariel relies on herself or her friends, she ends up naked on a beach with no voice (and apparently no way to write?). when someone finally has the brilliant idea to have the sea king come help make things right and everything is out in the open, she emerges gloriously from the shallows in a sparkly dress. way better.
from "beauty and the beast" i learned a couple things:
2. sometimes good-looking guys are big jerks. i mean this is obvious. who was the real beast? gaston should have been locked up somewhere for what he did to belle and her father.
3. cool girls read a lot. the only person in the town who understood or appreciated belle besides her father was the bookseller. everyone else didn't think it was important or useful to read, apparently.
4. true love means someone else's life is more important to you than your own. there was a real relationship in "beauty and the beast." the beast became more selfless as his love for belle grew, and that's why it worked.
5. you'd save yourself a lot of trouble by keeping your promises. think about it. if aladdin had freed the genie when it was time to make his third wish, jafar wouldn't have been able to mess everything up.
6. when you have something important to say, just come out with it. he could have told jasmine on their flying carpet date that yes, he was the boy from the market and he was pretending to be a prince and he had a magic lamp and a genie. tension at least shared. she took it pretty well after he saved her from the hourglass at the end, and the fact that he used a wish from a genie in a magic lamp to come impress her is pretty cute. i want to see that movie, where jasmine is in on it.
7. you can't hide from who you are and your responsibilities forever. "lion king" has a lot of parallels to our journey here on the earth. we make mistakes and run away from them, do something distracting to make ourselves feel better, but eventually it catches up to us. and the only choice is to go back and make it right. and hey, it might solve the drought problem. :) one of our mantras when i was a kid was "remember who you are." my dad used to say that to us as we left the house, long before "lion king" came out. "lion king" may be one of the few items of popular culture where the protagonist comes around to the idea that it's better to follow the rules and find your place in the system rather than abandon it altogether. and maybe it would have come out that scar was behind it all if simba had run to his mother and told her everything that happened instead of running away to the desert. she would have figured it out and possibly banished him (scar). not that he wouldn't have schemed again and again, but still. it's amazing to me how they got satan's techniques so well: it's your fault, so you're not worthy to go home again, and your mother won't love you anymore. they're obvious lies, unless your own mind is already accusing you.
those were the big ones from my formative years. later on i wasn't so impressionable and the movies were less good--pocahontas, hercules, home on the range? "mulan" i still love, and it's all about being awesome, saving your father's life by risking your own, and finding out that you are able to take down an army by being smart. so that's obvious.
to be fair, here are some lasting subliminal lessons i also learned from disney movies:
1. at 16, i will be very grown-up and possibly marriageable.
2. at 16, i will (or must) have a waist too tiny to fit necessary organs; flowing hair down to my waist; thin, long legs; thin, beautiful arms; and a beautiful voice.
3. at 16, my first date will be magical, and with the man i'm going to marry.
4. my goodness will have the power to change any manner of boy into the kind of man i would marry.
that's a lot of pressure for my 16th birthday! i was a smidge disappointed when i turned 16 and i still had acne and my arms and legs and waist stayed the same (my hair was flowing but not down to my waist), but i still managed to date a little and marry someone who was already the kind of man i wanted to marry. i think i even eschewed most of these erroneous ideas by the time i left high school. my first date was not magical, i can't give up any organs for the sake of a tiny waist, and none of the boys i knew when i was 16 were mormon, so i had no real future plans for any of them. that didn't stop me from choosing unwisely for a boyfriend my freshman year of college, probably still holding onto the idea that my goodness would somehow cause the guy to change from immature to mature and from life-sucking to life-affirming, but luckily i was too boring or something anyway. :) but at least i had a baseline, and the difference was obvious when i met my husband.
in conclusion, i still love disney movies. i love the magic and the beauty and the fun. i love getting caught up in the fantasy for a while, and now i even keep my feet firmly planted on the ground when i do (i kind of don't think men ever get all swoony over women. but it's fun to imagine!). i think we have to be aware of the subconscious messages we get from all of the things we take into our brains, but there are lessons to be learned. stories can spawn great discussions about life and how things really work vs. how they play out in the story or how the protagonist perceives reality (my mother is really good at finding good lessons from questionable media. "wouldn't her life have been better if she'd had the gospel? she wouldn't have gone to that party in the first place!" we like to rewrite stories so the protagonist already has the morals he or she gains by making bad decisions in the first 20 minutes of a film. they usually last about 5 minutes in our versions. bo-ring!). sometimes characters in media actually start spouting truth, like family is really important, and there is true love in places other than romantic relationships, and "soul mates" really come down to choice and hard work, and i love it.
1. things are always better if you talk to your parents. i learned this from "the little mermaid." when ariel relies on herself or her friends, she ends up naked on a beach with no voice (and apparently no way to write?). when someone finally has the brilliant idea to have the sea king come help make things right and everything is out in the open, she emerges gloriously from the shallows in a sparkly dress. way better.
from "beauty and the beast" i learned a couple things:
2. sometimes good-looking guys are big jerks. i mean this is obvious. who was the real beast? gaston should have been locked up somewhere for what he did to belle and her father.
3. cool girls read a lot. the only person in the town who understood or appreciated belle besides her father was the bookseller. everyone else didn't think it was important or useful to read, apparently.
4. true love means someone else's life is more important to you than your own. there was a real relationship in "beauty and the beast." the beast became more selfless as his love for belle grew, and that's why it worked.
5. you'd save yourself a lot of trouble by keeping your promises. think about it. if aladdin had freed the genie when it was time to make his third wish, jafar wouldn't have been able to mess everything up.
6. when you have something important to say, just come out with it. he could have told jasmine on their flying carpet date that yes, he was the boy from the market and he was pretending to be a prince and he had a magic lamp and a genie. tension at least shared. she took it pretty well after he saved her from the hourglass at the end, and the fact that he used a wish from a genie in a magic lamp to come impress her is pretty cute. i want to see that movie, where jasmine is in on it.
7. you can't hide from who you are and your responsibilities forever. "lion king" has a lot of parallels to our journey here on the earth. we make mistakes and run away from them, do something distracting to make ourselves feel better, but eventually it catches up to us. and the only choice is to go back and make it right. and hey, it might solve the drought problem. :) one of our mantras when i was a kid was "remember who you are." my dad used to say that to us as we left the house, long before "lion king" came out. "lion king" may be one of the few items of popular culture where the protagonist comes around to the idea that it's better to follow the rules and find your place in the system rather than abandon it altogether. and maybe it would have come out that scar was behind it all if simba had run to his mother and told her everything that happened instead of running away to the desert. she would have figured it out and possibly banished him (scar). not that he wouldn't have schemed again and again, but still. it's amazing to me how they got satan's techniques so well: it's your fault, so you're not worthy to go home again, and your mother won't love you anymore. they're obvious lies, unless your own mind is already accusing you.
those were the big ones from my formative years. later on i wasn't so impressionable and the movies were less good--pocahontas, hercules, home on the range? "mulan" i still love, and it's all about being awesome, saving your father's life by risking your own, and finding out that you are able to take down an army by being smart. so that's obvious.
to be fair, here are some lasting subliminal lessons i also learned from disney movies:
1. at 16, i will be very grown-up and possibly marriageable.
2. at 16, i will (or must) have a waist too tiny to fit necessary organs; flowing hair down to my waist; thin, long legs; thin, beautiful arms; and a beautiful voice.
3. at 16, my first date will be magical, and with the man i'm going to marry.
4. my goodness will have the power to change any manner of boy into the kind of man i would marry.
that's a lot of pressure for my 16th birthday! i was a smidge disappointed when i turned 16 and i still had acne and my arms and legs and waist stayed the same (my hair was flowing but not down to my waist), but i still managed to date a little and marry someone who was already the kind of man i wanted to marry. i think i even eschewed most of these erroneous ideas by the time i left high school. my first date was not magical, i can't give up any organs for the sake of a tiny waist, and none of the boys i knew when i was 16 were mormon, so i had no real future plans for any of them. that didn't stop me from choosing unwisely for a boyfriend my freshman year of college, probably still holding onto the idea that my goodness would somehow cause the guy to change from immature to mature and from life-sucking to life-affirming, but luckily i was too boring or something anyway. :) but at least i had a baseline, and the difference was obvious when i met my husband.
in conclusion, i still love disney movies. i love the magic and the beauty and the fun. i love getting caught up in the fantasy for a while, and now i even keep my feet firmly planted on the ground when i do (i kind of don't think men ever get all swoony over women. but it's fun to imagine!). i think we have to be aware of the subconscious messages we get from all of the things we take into our brains, but there are lessons to be learned. stories can spawn great discussions about life and how things really work vs. how they play out in the story or how the protagonist perceives reality (my mother is really good at finding good lessons from questionable media. "wouldn't her life have been better if she'd had the gospel? she wouldn't have gone to that party in the first place!" we like to rewrite stories so the protagonist already has the morals he or she gains by making bad decisions in the first 20 minutes of a film. they usually last about 5 minutes in our versions. bo-ring!). sometimes characters in media actually start spouting truth, like family is really important, and there is true love in places other than romantic relationships, and "soul mates" really come down to choice and hard work, and i love it.
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
past, present, future
i've been partially composing this post for a few days now. i was chatting with a friend whose youngest child is 3 as she passed my 8-month-old back to me, and she told me she missed having a little baby. that got me thinking about how my baby is going to grow up someday, and then i'll miss things about having a baby, too. i won't miss the sleep deprivation. or my utterly sore body that doesn't have a chance to heal between feedings. or the feeling of being trapped when my arms are full.
i feel that i am seeing my past, present, and future all at once. i have an almost-middle-schooler, a 2nd-grader, a kindergartner, a 3-year-old and an 8-month-old. i can see glimpses of my future with teenagers, i am in the middle of elementary school parenting (i think i counted ten more years of elementary school in my future), and i look a bit differently at this baby because she is most likely my last. i watch her every milestone and remember four others', and remember my own growing-up years as a mother to them. soon, i won't be changing diapers and wiping noses, and my biggest worry won't be the size of the mess in the house. i don't know what my future will be. i just know it won't be my past, and that's okay. i'm going to have to learn new things and pray differently about my life and my children. and maybe i can pass on some of the things i've learned in the last ten years.
so here are the things i am enjoying (and have enjoyed) about having a baby (in no particular order):
1. how the baby reacts when she sees me. her face lights up, and her legs and arms wave and kick, as if all of her dreams were coming true all on the same day. i don't even have to be carrying cupcakes and lollipops or do a dance. i just have to be in the room and she's so happy she doesn't know what to do with herself.
2. the feeling of the baby squeezing me. she scrunches up her whole body, puts her little arm around my neck and gathers whatever she can reach in her little fists. baby hugs!
3. the absolute sweetness of the baby falling asleep on my breast. i believe this is the thing i love the most because it happens in private, and i have no pictures of it, for obvious reasons. it's a mixture of satisfaction and peace and staggering love for my baby. satisfaction because i can provide the solution for a fussy baby. peace because sleep is peaceful, and the face of a sleeping baby just makes everything right with the world. and maybe i'm just describing the effect of oxytocin surging through me, but it is real. those quiet moments after the baby falls asleep are filled with such beauty (no, not every time), like getting a glimpse of what God must feel for us.
4. being the only one who can make it right. there is something gratifying about watching my baby lurch in my direction when she sees me and someone else is holding her. i just know that to her, i am the whole world.
for now. :)
i feel that i am seeing my past, present, and future all at once. i have an almost-middle-schooler, a 2nd-grader, a kindergartner, a 3-year-old and an 8-month-old. i can see glimpses of my future with teenagers, i am in the middle of elementary school parenting (i think i counted ten more years of elementary school in my future), and i look a bit differently at this baby because she is most likely my last. i watch her every milestone and remember four others', and remember my own growing-up years as a mother to them. soon, i won't be changing diapers and wiping noses, and my biggest worry won't be the size of the mess in the house. i don't know what my future will be. i just know it won't be my past, and that's okay. i'm going to have to learn new things and pray differently about my life and my children. and maybe i can pass on some of the things i've learned in the last ten years.
so here are the things i am enjoying (and have enjoyed) about having a baby (in no particular order):
1. how the baby reacts when she sees me. her face lights up, and her legs and arms wave and kick, as if all of her dreams were coming true all on the same day. i don't even have to be carrying cupcakes and lollipops or do a dance. i just have to be in the room and she's so happy she doesn't know what to do with herself.
2. the feeling of the baby squeezing me. she scrunches up her whole body, puts her little arm around my neck and gathers whatever she can reach in her little fists. baby hugs!
3. the absolute sweetness of the baby falling asleep on my breast. i believe this is the thing i love the most because it happens in private, and i have no pictures of it, for obvious reasons. it's a mixture of satisfaction and peace and staggering love for my baby. satisfaction because i can provide the solution for a fussy baby. peace because sleep is peaceful, and the face of a sleeping baby just makes everything right with the world. and maybe i'm just describing the effect of oxytocin surging through me, but it is real. those quiet moments after the baby falls asleep are filled with such beauty (no, not every time), like getting a glimpse of what God must feel for us.
4. being the only one who can make it right. there is something gratifying about watching my baby lurch in my direction when she sees me and someone else is holding her. i just know that to her, i am the whole world.
for now. :)
Saturday, November 16, 2013
dreaming
on days when i feel particularly haggard, i like to picture my life seven years from now. at that point, i will have a 16-year-old, an almost-14-year-old, an almost-12-year-old, a 9-year-old, and an almost-7-year-old. most importantly, all my children will be in full-day school, and i will be left to myself for about 6 hours on school days. i realize that by the time i am actually in this situation, my responsibilities will have shifted gradually, and maybe i won't want to do the things i want to do now, and other things will of necessity fill the time. however, i have been meaning to make a list of things i wish i could do but can't because i would have to bring small children with me. so, in no particular order, here is a non-exhaustive list of what i like to picture myself doing when i am in a situation to do so:
i love my life right now and i enjoy my kids. grocery shopping with a two-year-old is sometimes more fun than going by myself (at least my current 2-year-old), and even going places like the post office or the mall for something specific is fine with kids in tow.
and i'm sure i will miss the mayhem that surrounds me most of my days right now. for example, my two older boys were just chasing each other with nerf guns (the younger one had a fake pistol and the older had a machine gun--go figure), and the younger was down here, hiding behind the counter for cover, waiting for the older to come get him with his giant gun. while he waited, i heard a small crunching sound and looked over to find him snacking on an errant frosted mini-wheat. you can't make this stuff up.
i know they will grow into themselves and be creative in other, maybe less messy ways than they are right now, but there is a purity and sweetness to the yogurt-covered countertop and grapenut sprinkled floor after breakfast, the absolute disorder of a lego-covered bedroom floor, and the half-finished art projects on the kitchen table, complete with tiny shapes cut out of the exact center of a piece of cardstock. someday they'll eat with spoons and know how to pour cereal without spilling, remember to put the milk back in the fridge and even close the door. that may not be until they're married, but i'm doing my best to train them now, future wives of my little men. someday they'll be responsible for their own laundry, have some semblance of order in their bedrooms (even if it's a mystery to everyone but the occupant(s) of said bedroom), and do dishes without being asked. at that point, i'll wonder where i fit in and have a whole other set of problems as a mother, i'm sure.
but some days, slogging through yet another load of stinky laundry because somebody wet the bed or pooped in his underwear, having walked to the school three times with my very pregnant body and stuffing a squirming screaming toddler into the stroller three times, operating on 6 hours of not-awesome sleep, and looking around the house and seeing an utter disaster at every turn because i haven't had the energy or time or will to do anything to maintain the order that probably once reigned (for seventeen seconds), and trying to figure out what i can make for dinner in 25 minutes that dwindles to 15 while i make a space in the kitchen to cook and then change a diaper and argue about why someone isn't finished with his homework, 6 hours to myself sounds amazing!
- take a class or two at the community college. someday i would like to be able to help my kids with their math homework when it gets beyond arithmetic and geometry, and that would involve finally conquering my fear and loathing of calculus. also, someday i would like to learn how to program. but both of those ideas are if i want to challenge myself by leaving my comfort zone. if i don't feel like doing that, i would take german classes, art history, linguistics (doesn't a masters in linguistics sound like fun?!), maybe sewing or a cooking or nutrition class. that list is only the tip of the iceberg.
- find an orchestra or wind ensemble to join. i have a feeling most of these would rehearse in the evening, which might make it prohibitive, although i'll have teenagers who can be home by themselves...
- get a massage, manicure, pedicure, haircut, facial...
- learn to play the oboe or cello, and practice piano and flute. how different my life would be if i had started on the oboe instead of the flute. but at least i could practice something without interruption if nobody were home during the day.
- volunteer in classrooms of my children, chaperon field trips, actually go to PTA meetings. sometimes i feel pressure from other moms at the school. i'm sure it's all in my mind, because if i ever vocalize the guilt i feel for not even having a desire to be involved in the PTA, i get incredulous looks and "but you have three other kids to worry about!" kind of comments from my friends who are on committees and volunteer weekly in the classroom and go on field trips with their kids. so, my time will come. i have great memories of my mom coming on field trips with my classmates and me.
- keep up with laundry and ironing. i don't know why this is an aspiration of mine. i hope that by the time i have a 16-year-old, they will be doing most of their own laundry. but right now, i don't really have a system, and i feel like i can't ever take a day and actually catch up because somebody needs to be fed or watered or cleaned or i need a nap more than life itself.
- go on lunch dates with friends. just a meal out in the middle of the day, and having until 3 to do it. awesome.
- take a nap at 10 am.
- go to movies, shop, run errands. probably the novelty of being able to do the things i already do right now but without any children will wear off eventually (although i don't go to movies in the middle of the day with children right now). that's probably what i dream about the most.
i love my life right now and i enjoy my kids. grocery shopping with a two-year-old is sometimes more fun than going by myself (at least my current 2-year-old), and even going places like the post office or the mall for something specific is fine with kids in tow.
and i'm sure i will miss the mayhem that surrounds me most of my days right now. for example, my two older boys were just chasing each other with nerf guns (the younger one had a fake pistol and the older had a machine gun--go figure), and the younger was down here, hiding behind the counter for cover, waiting for the older to come get him with his giant gun. while he waited, i heard a small crunching sound and looked over to find him snacking on an errant frosted mini-wheat. you can't make this stuff up.
i know they will grow into themselves and be creative in other, maybe less messy ways than they are right now, but there is a purity and sweetness to the yogurt-covered countertop and grapenut sprinkled floor after breakfast, the absolute disorder of a lego-covered bedroom floor, and the half-finished art projects on the kitchen table, complete with tiny shapes cut out of the exact center of a piece of cardstock. someday they'll eat with spoons and know how to pour cereal without spilling, remember to put the milk back in the fridge and even close the door. that may not be until they're married, but i'm doing my best to train them now, future wives of my little men. someday they'll be responsible for their own laundry, have some semblance of order in their bedrooms (even if it's a mystery to everyone but the occupant(s) of said bedroom), and do dishes without being asked. at that point, i'll wonder where i fit in and have a whole other set of problems as a mother, i'm sure.
but some days, slogging through yet another load of stinky laundry because somebody wet the bed or pooped in his underwear, having walked to the school three times with my very pregnant body and stuffing a squirming screaming toddler into the stroller three times, operating on 6 hours of not-awesome sleep, and looking around the house and seeing an utter disaster at every turn because i haven't had the energy or time or will to do anything to maintain the order that probably once reigned (for seventeen seconds), and trying to figure out what i can make for dinner in 25 minutes that dwindles to 15 while i make a space in the kitchen to cook and then change a diaper and argue about why someone isn't finished with his homework, 6 hours to myself sounds amazing!
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