There Has To Be A Better Way!

An undated neon green post-it of mine reminds me that many months ago I wanted to write about how I was so overwhelmed by the sheer process of just getting ready to get all of us out of the house each morning.  

I was regularly carrying the following things out to the car each morning:  my work bag with laptop and charger and important papers and calendar and all the purse-y stuff I need in it, my work lunch bag with a morning snack, lunch, and afternoon snack and ice packs in it, my pump with cleaned and dried cones, empty bottles, lids, milk storage bags, pumping bra in it, my work shoes (because I needed to wear easy to slip on shoes for infant drop off/pick up, but then change into not so easy to slip on/off shoes for work), my jacket/sweater, possibly my scarf and gloves, my coffee mug, Fox's baby lunch bag which had to have her jacket, shoes, socks, bottle, sippy cup, bottles of pumped milk, and daily instruction sheet filled out in it, Turtle's backpack with binder, homework, reading books, filled out forms, water bottle, and often packed lunch with afternoon snack, too, and ice packs in it, and sometimes loading the stroller and diaper bag, too, because we were heading somewhere after pick up where we would need that stuff not to mention if we planned to do a specific activity I might also need more snacks for both kids or whatever activity specific stuff we needed such as casual clothes and shoes for me or sports equipment or swimsuits, towels, goggles, toiletries, padlock or groceries or certain toys...

...and then at the end of the day I was unloading the two kids and unloading all of the above back out of the car and washing the pump parts, bottles, sippy cup, and sometimes pump bra and various clothing items, unpacking and processing as needed the items inside the three lunch bags, backpack, and work bag, which could mean lots of rinsing things, throwing things away, putting things away, signing things, fighting to convince a 6-year old to read/write/calculate things, sending emails, reading things, writing things, preparing presentations, and then late at night starting over with re-packing snacks and lunches and so forth...

...and then I would start all over again the next day.  

I swear I have packed and unpacked less for some vacations in my life!  

And I think this is the part where I am supposed to refrain from mentioning that Backtire typically grabbed his keys, wallet, and sunglasses, maybe a backpack with a laptop and just headed out the door each day.  

And I even sat around and put a lot of quality mental energy into trying to come up with some system that would streamline it all, but no matter what I did, I couldn't get around the need to put all of that stuff in the car each day and the fact that it had to be a lot of different little bags, too, because each one was traveling with a different person to a different location or certain items needed to be portable once the person got there.  So, everyday I dragged 10 or more separate items out to my car and just felt inefficient and annoyed and weighed down by it all.  

The whole thing is just so ridiculous and exhausting and takes up so much time and bandwidth.  If moms everywhere weren't having to pack and unpack and keep track of all this junk, do you know how many productive and creative hours the world would gain back? Millions of great minds are mired in trying to remember to prepare and lug all this junk around instead of teaching our youth, healing the sick, administering justice, generating products, providing services, designing the next best thing. Millions of creative minds are being wasted coming up with peanut free lunches instead of solving the world's problems or conceiving of art that enriches us all.  

And I want to say, as a friend of mind puts it, that I know that this is a "first world problem." But it still makes me crazy!  

(And I don't know why blogger is suddenly putting these giant gaps between my paragraphs when it didn't used to and it totally annoys me because I am very sensitive to formatting but I don't care to spend time solving it right now.) 

When Everything is Overdue

I'm trying really hard not to cry at the fact that my last post was nearly a YEAR ago.


Which means a year's worth of writing (here or elsewhere) basically hasn't happened.  I have a stack of not-followed-through-on post-its to show for it, others that I went ahead and tossed because they made me too pressured, guilty, and sad, and yet more ideas forever swirling around in my head, mostly unprocessed, waiting to be freed somehow.


It's not a good place for me to be.  Having a brain that is next to impossible to shut off and letting it run rampant for a year leads to not only the frustration of the accumulation of unfulfilled creative ideas but also the stress, anxiety, and sadness of keeping too much inside.  I realize that it's really important for me to process everything- little crap that happens throughout the day and big stuff that hangs over me, too.  And I'm such a verbal processor.  I need to either talk it out or write it out and I've had a huge lack of both of those this year.  No time to write.  Not nearly enough time to talk over things with Backtire, family, and friends.


And on top of it I feel bad that I haven't made a point to carve out time for myself to write (or get a haircut or exercise or buy sorely needed clothes or or or or...).  So, I rarely put myself first and then I feel guilty about rarely putting myself first.  Isn't that great?  Beating myself up for that?  It's like kicking myself when I'm already down.  Then I feel guilty about feeling guilty about it because I know that won't help anything and then I'm headed very quickly down a spiral of inner craziness.


Instead, I'm trying to remind myself of the good way to look at it: I have been in the throes of Fox's first year on the planet and Turtle's first year of real school, doing my best to do right by them, manage the household, and keep up at work, too.  Plus all the junk that goes along with keeping a post-second-kid-mid-life-mid-career-exhaustion-how-did-I-get-here? marriage afloat.


I already look forward to the days when I'll look fondly back on all of this!


So, here I sit at a downtown coffee shop with free wireless, having forced myself to leave the house with laptop in hand and make myself sit down and write even if it's crap and even if I put four posts up tonight and not again for another year, just to try to get back in it again.

Camping With Kids: Why It’s Worth It

For the past decade a group of family and close friends have trekked up North each summer into giant redwood territory near Eureka to camp for a few days along the Eel River. When it all started, it was a bunch of young adults, for the most part untethered and able to keep it simple. As the years have passed, many of us have gotten hitched and had kids, which has expanded the group size as well as the packing list!

This year, it took both Backtire and I spending two full days and evenings packing, shopping, and prepping, and it was only that fast because we’ve done this trip before and were working off a pretty well developed packing list. Then there was one day of loading the truck, driving seven hours, and unloading it to make camp and another day reversing that on the way out but with additional time driving because it was horrible-Sunday-everyone-else-is-returning-from-having-fun-too traffic. Plus, at least a full day’s worth of unloading the truck at home, unpacking, doing laundry, cleaning pots and pans, and putting everything away. Although that full “day” was actually spread out across the better part of a week because we were back to work and couldn’t devote much time to it each each day.

So, let’s see… that adds up to five or more days of pre- and post- doings so that we could spend three nights and essentially two full days camping as a family.

And I’m not even counting the mental thinking and planning and listing that went on in the weeks before we started physically packing or the flurry of last-minute email coordination between us and our fellow campers.

And let’s not forget that once we started our brief camping trip we spent a good chunk of each day setting up and tearing down and packing and unpacking something or other for each meal or hike or trip to the river we did. All of which involved more back/shoulder/wrist-straining schlepping than normal because we brought an immobile 3 month old baby and her necessary accoutrements with us.

All told you’ve gotta admit there was a pretty high work to play ratio here! And you know what? It was all worth it! Here’s why:

•Lying on the ground with your 5-year old and looking up to see the tops of giant redwood trees swaying in the wind.

•Waking up to the sound of kids squealing because they found banana slugs crawling all over the coolers.

•Catching tadpoles with our bare hands.

•Hours and hours and hours without a single “I’m bored” as kids busy themselves playing endless imaginary games with sticks, rocks, and leaves.

•Adults and kids together playing “night soccer” with headlamps.

•Learning how to build a fire and then staying up way past your bedtime listening to the guitar and singing together around the campfire.

•Crunching through pine needles on your bike.

•Feeling the current of the river tugging on your legs as you cross it holding Daddy’s hand.

•The whole family snuggled up in the tent together, keeping each other warm.

•Water gun fights with your grandparents in the heat of the afternoon.

•20 people whooping in the woods as they play a crazy game of catch with baggies full of milk, sugar, fruit, ice, and rock salt and then laughing with delight as they enjoy eating the ice cream they just made.

•Making new friends and re-connecting with old ones.

•Sharing responsibilities and taking care of each other, lending and borrowing, helping out, taking turns, sharing a treat.

•Standing with your family in the forest as you leave the empty campground for one last moment before heading home. Hearing only the rustling of leaves as the breeze blows through them. Hugs and kisses and sighs of contentment.

Ramblings on Gender Differences

I was looking at back to school backpacks for kids last night online and you had to click boy or girl before the website would display your backpack choices. At McDonald's you have to tell them boy or girl when you order a Happy Meal so they can give you the correct toy. When grocery shopping with 3 month old Fox wearing a plain white onesie, baby admirers needed to know boy or girl before they proceeded to gush over the baby cuteness. I've always been fascinated by gender differences and cultural roles, took the obligatory Women's Studies course in college, read Gloria Steinham, subscribed to Ms. magazine, and have personally varied between fighting, struggling with, accepting, and embracing gender stereotypes at different times in my life, but I'm even more aware of it and sensitive to it all now that I will personally be charged with raising a boy and a girl.

It irks me that any major retailer, especially toy stores, there are the pink aisles and the blue/camo/black/silver/red/green/grey aisles and nary a toy in between. It even irks me that the boy aisles seem to have a range of colors available, basically every color except pink and purple, and the girl aisles are solely pink and purple.

Things that could be gender neutral, like play food (don't we all eat food?) are shelved in the pink zone sending the clear message to old enough/savvy enough kids, like Turtle, that those must be girl things. It's one thing to set up a preschool classroom with a play kitchen corner, a book corner, a blocks corner, and some art supplies and find that the girls tend to convene in the play kitchen more often and the boys tend to be stuck in the block area most of the day- that's self-segregation and you still will see some cross over. I know Turtle likes to play kitchen and restaurant and house and doctor with the girls and the other boys, just not as much as he likes to build blocks and race cars and play dinosaur attack. But it's another thing to physically separate different kinds of toys and color label them as being the purview of only boys or girls. That kind of extreme genderization of playthings is offensive to me.

Legos? In the boy aisles. Doesn't my daughter need spatial skills and a sense of mastery, too? Let's walk my daughter into the Lego aisle and let her choose a set. Hmmm....do you want a Star Wars attack, sea monster attack, pirates attack, or soldiers attack set? I exaggerate a bit, but the fact is that the building toys are all designed for boys' interests.

When my then 2-year old nephew was going to become a big brother, I went searching for a baby doll that he could have so that when my sister nursed and attended to the new baby, he could have a baby to take care of also. I was hard pressed to find a baby that was not dressed in pink from head to toe with all pink accessories. I guess girls who play with dolls aren't even allowed to have pretend sons, only pretend daughters, let alone pretend gender neutral babies. And boys shouldn't be interested in baby dolls, even though we expect them to somehow grow up to be good, loving, nurturing fathers. I suppose they will practice those skills somehow with their attack Legos?

Backtire walks around the house holding and singing to a baby, changing her diaper, soothing her. He's a man and this is part of his real man's life. But Turtle is already less and less interested in playing with his baby doll because he's heard it through the grapevine that dolls are for girls. The funny thing? Turtle spends a lot of time racing and crashing Hot Wheels and having superheroes rescue good guys from bad guys and not much time taking care of baby doll or stuffed animals. But in real life, his dad is feeding and changing and cleaning and playing with children a lot more often than he is slaying bad guys. So, it seems like girl toys like play kitchens and dolls actually prepare both boys and girls better for a lot of what real life is all about than some of the boy toys do! I'm sure Backtire in his fantasies would rather be racing real cars and probably slaying real bad guys, too, but come to think about it Mommy might rather be doing other more stimulating things than feeding and cleaning up after children, also! Where are the girl toys that help girls with skills other than domestic ones? Pretty much in the boy aisles! Aaargh!

And then there's Storm. You know, the kid whose parents are trying to raise it to be gender neutral and hiding it's sex from all but close family members. I'm all for the sentiments behind the statement they are making in many ways and I sympathize, but come on. Let's get real. Is everyone really walking around calling it "it" because they can't use gender pronouns? Hey, come over and meet my little...sibling. Doesn't... it have such cute chubby thighs? And which bathroom shall it use? Good luck shopping for gender neutral clothing! and bathing suits! and underwear! or anything, for that matter! And have they started a counseling fund so the kid can deal with having been it's parents personal experiment? And why is it okay for it's older siblings and it's parents to have gender and ever other person it meets or characters in every storybook read to it, but not it? How realistic is the experiment when they know the sex, so it's impossible to not subtly bias how they act around it or what purchases they make? And what about the whole peeing standing up or sitting down thing?* I mean isn't the real sex going to come out pretty fast and all of this come crashing down? And what will the point have been? Plus, it seems they are operating on the assumption that our gender-based behaviors are all learned and that's simply not true.

There are very real hard-wired differences between the sexes, physiologically, hormonally, neurologically, that evolved to be there because they made our species successful. There are a lot of learned things on top of that, yes, and the interplay between those two is fascinating and impossible to fully understand and we'll never be able to tease out some of the nuances in terms of what we are born with versus what comes from even very early exposures in our lives. And what's wrong with that? Why aren't we recognizing and acknowledging and celebrating our gender differences instead of trying to squash them? Also, I want to know- when they take Storm to get a Happy Meal, how does that work?

Okay, so clearly I am conflicted myself about all of this. No, I'm not conflicted. I take that back. There are real gender differences and they are okay and even wonderful. But there are also extreme exaggerated gender expectations and stereotypes out there that don't need to be that way and aren't very healthy for us and our kids. Trying to make our kids into Storms is not a good idea, but neither is the pink vs. camo mentality. I'm trying to find a middle ground for my kids. (Pink camo?) They both need to build and cook and role play good guys vs. bad and race and fight and nurture and all of that stuff and to find who they are and to learn about their own gender and the opposite and to understand there's lots of overlap. So, I'll be working on that.

Meanwhile, I have to admit, that the other day I went into a children's clothing store that I've frequented on occasion over the years to buy Turtle clothes. But this time I was there to get something for Fox. I had a totally wild exhilarated kind of wide-eyed feeling as I realized that for the first time in 5 years I was going to cross the aisle into the girls' side of the store. I had never even set foot over there before. It was joyful and kind of overwhelming, both emotionally and literally (as there are way way way more choices of girls' clothes than boys'!) I have loved filling Turtle's drawers with the little bulldozers and aliens and monster trucks clothing and even though I have spent a lifetime eschewing pink flowery girly princess stuff for myself, I now plan to fully embrace and love the flowers and butterflies and ladybugs while I can! Vive la difference!

*Credit to my mom for pointing that one out!

Out of the Mouths of Babes

A week ago we were at the park with Granny & Grandpa and Turtle decided to bring 73 Hot Wheels (yes, he counted) in a bucket to play with. At one point, I am sitting on a bench nursing Fox and he is behind me racing Hot Wheels in the grass. I can vaguely hear the familiar sound effects and exclamations and constant narration that goes along with major Hot Wheels races, but I'm kind of happily tuning it out and focusing on the birds chirping and the nice breeze. But then the back of my brain realizes that I'm hearing the same phrase repeated over and over out of his mouth and I can't help but tune back in. And what do I hear?

"You're so fucken fast! This car is fucken fast! Fucken fast!"

!!! (sound of me clamping lips shut trying not to laugh out loud) !!!

It was pretty "fucken" hilarious, actually. I was far from horrified and quite amused, especially at the pronunciation, which was very much fuck-EN, as opposed to fuck-ING. It was obvious that Turtle had no idea what he was saying at all and had just picked up the phrase phonetically. I did take a moment to admire his proper use of the adverbial form of the word. And a second moment to decide which one of us parents I should blame this on.

Oh sure, when I told Backtire about it later, he took the easy way out and blamed it on "kids at school", but I'm thinking that the context (racing) and the exact phrase "fucken fast" kind of give it away. I mean, who has all the car magazines at our house? Who checks race scores online all the time? Who introduced Turtle to a racing videogame? Who talks about cars and motorcycles and racing incessantly with his friends? Whose blog moniker, an old nickname, refers to doing wheelies? I rest my case.

Next step- do I pretend I didn't hear it and say nothing? Do I jump up and yell at him for using foul language? Something in between? I couldn't do the yell thing because A. that would make me the biggest "fucken" hypocrite in the world and B. because the bigger of a deal I make of it, the more power I give the word which will only lead to him trying to say it more intentionally in order to push buttons and test limits. And C. I'm just not really a yeller. Not my parenting (or teaching) style.

I seriously contemplated just letting it go. It was the first time I've heard him use the F-word and he wasn't saying it TO anyone, just sort of to himself as he played, and he definitely wasn't using it in a rude way, more of in an enthusiastically descriptive way. And, by the way, thank god the grandparents were out of earshot for this whole thing! (Although they may read the blog. Oh well.)

But then I realized, well, what if he's racing cars at school and says "fucken fast". Then he's gonna get an earful from the preschool teacher and I might have to hear about it, too. So, I called him over and said "Uh, that word you are saying is a bad word."

"What word?"

"That word you've been saying." I didn't even want to say it, because then I'd be too tempted to correct the pronunciation and get into the proper use of the word, its origin, meaning, etc. "You shouldn't say that word. It's rude and mean and it's worse than saying poop." Okay, definitely feeling lame at this point, but not sure how far to go with this. Trying to get across the graveness without giving a whole education on other bad words.

"Is it worse than shit?"

Okay. Clearly the boy already knows something about curse words and their relative ranking.

"Yes, it's worse than shit. It's one of the worst words. And if you say it in front of Granny & Grandpa they are going to think you are really mean and rude and if you say it at school, you are going to-"

-I was about to say you'll have to go to the principal's office, but then realized that it's preschool and there is no principal and I really don't know what the worst consequence is?-

"-you'll have to go to Donna's office." She's the director of the preschool. Not sure if she fulfills the same disciplinary role as a principal? Probably not? He's looking at me confused, like, okay...whatever...why does it matter that I'd have to go to Donna's office? "Well, anyway, you could get in a lot of trouble if you say it at school, so why don't you say something better like 'This car is super duper fast! It's amazingly fast!'? Try that!"

He kind of blows me off and goes back to playing cars. I am left not sure whether I've made an impact or not. And, honestly, I don't care that much. It was half-hearted discipline on my part, mostly just to cover my own ass. I don't really feel like having to talk to Donna when she calls to tell me he's been using foul language. And, of course, I want my son to be respectful and not to use foul language inappropriately and all of that good stuff, but I just can't get all hot and bothered about "bad" words. I've just never gotten it, even when I was a kid. They are just words. And they are great, descriptive, useful words.

And part of being a successful grown up is about learning how to behave in different contexts, not mindlessly following black and white rules. And part of being a successful parent (or teacher) is not laying down rules that can't or won't be consistently followed or enforced. If I had told my high school students no cussing ever or else, then how should I have responded to the girl who was helping me by taking down posters from the bulletin board while her classmates finished a quiz, creating a little pile of thumbtacks next to her as she worked, when she slipped, caught herself with her hands, and thereby drove a thumbtack into her palm prompting her to shout "fuck!" as the pain signal reached her brain? By sending her to the proverbial principal's office? I think not.

By the way, there was a recent scientific study that demonstrated that people who crushed their thumb with a hammer or something equally painful experienced less pain if they were allowed to just curse it out than those who had to say "oh gee golly" or "sugar!" So yelling "fuck!" across a quiet classroom, in this case, was medically beneficial.

When I hear students using foul language inappropriately in the classroom setting, I just remind them that we can all talk however we want with our friends on a Friday night, including me, but that we all have to maintain an air of professionalism in the school setting, which is practice for the future work setting. (At least until you cross the fuck barrier with certain colleagues. After that, I've always found the work setting to be more fun and relaxing.)

So, we'll take each case of cursing as it comes and help Turtle learn when it's okay and when it's not to use certain words. And I'm confident he'll pick it up really...fucken fast.

Free Range Challenge #2

You might remember my dilemma a couple months ago when I finally decided to go to the bathroom alone, leaving my 5-year old in the coffee shop by himself while I did so. Well, this week I was faced with the other side of the coin. We were settling in at the public pool and I had just begun nursing Fox. Turtle's lessons were soon to begin when he realized he needed to pee.

Uh... okay... I'm not going to interrupt nursing an infant to have to carry her all the way across the whole pool area back into the locker room so that we can supervise Turtle peeing. "Can you wait?" I asked him. Nope.*

"Hmmm... Well, all right, how do you feel about going to the bathroom alone?"

"I don't know. You need to come with me."

Clearly, both of us were a little nervous at the prospect. I thought it over some more. He knows his way into the locker room and where the bathroom stalls are and back out to me, no problem. He doesn't need any help with the whole process itself. There is access to the main exit out to the street once he's in the locker room, though. And it's all behind closed doors where I can't see or hear him if he needs help. And there's random other people in there.

But, he could just walk in and go directly to the bathroom quickly and come right back out to me and I could keep my eye on the time. I could remind him not to get distracted doing other things. He's motivated to stay with us and to do his lesson which is about to start. He's not a bolter in general either. So, there's no good reason why he would wander off out of the locker room and into the main office/exit area.

And here we are at a nice safe family friendly public pool. Who is really going to bother him or grab him or anything like that? What's the likelihood? Just about nothing. In fact, anyone seeing him walking into the stall will assume his mom is one of the ladies sitting feet away in the locker room. No one has any reason to believe he is all alone or to "prey" on him.

"OK, look, why don't you walk in there, just go straight to pee, don't do anything else, and come right back as fast as you can. I know how long it takes, so if you are taking too long, I am going to get up and come in there to find you because I'll be worried about you. So, please don't get distracted and stay in there long because then I have to stop feeding Fox and come find you."

Then I proceeded to quiz him on what he would do if someone bothered him. He said he would ignore them. I pushed- but what if they keep bothering you or grab you? (Ugh. I can't believe I even said that, but I felt I had to.) He said he would run away and yell. I reminded him he could also ask a worker for help. All the pool workers/lifeguards/teachers wear recognizable red swimsuits and have clipboards.

He agreed to go on his own and so we commenced his first trip to a public restroom where I wasn't standing right outside the door.

I watched him walk all the way around the pool and up to the locker room doors and then stop, clearly in trepidation. He faltered for a few moments, then turned around and walked all the way back to me. Mission aborted.

"What happened?"

"Mom, I am not allowed to go in the women's by myself without a mom and I don't want to go in the men's. I've never been in the men's before and don't know what it's like."

Agreed. "Sweetie, you need to go in the women's, where we always change our clothes and you know where the bathroom is."

"But they don't let boys in there without a mom. What if they say something to me?"

OK, so I'm worried about his safety and he's worried about breaking the rules and getting in trouble. I convinced him no bathroom police were going to say anything to him at all and he should quickly go in the women's. I can see how this is going to become a whole new issue as he gets older, though, and that doesn't fly anymore. I am going to have to trust him going into the men's room on his own when we are out and about. Sigh.

So he returns to the mission. As soon as I see him disappear through the women's locker room door, I am watching the clock and thinking about how long it takes to walk to the stall, open it, get in, lock it, pull down your bathing suit, do the deed, and reverse all of that. I am thinking ahead already to my options if he takes longer than I think he should. Crap- when should I begin to worry? After 3 minutes? 5? At what point do I get up with the baby and head in there if he hasn't emerged?

As I feel the seconds tick by and am already formulating my emergency plan, he pops right back out the door and starts heading back to me exactly on schedule.

Whew! Another milestone for both of us.

*(This is the part where, okay, I'm totally going to admit it, I did consider briefly whether I should just counsel him to pee in the pool. Seemed like a really easy option and a way out of my dilemma. But I realized he's too old for that. He'll end up telling someone that I told him to do it! OMG then I'll be really embarrassed! So, I went the braver (nobler?) route instead.)