Lonely Motherhood

I’m sitting on the couch leaning on a pillow

with my crossed feet up taking up as much couch as I can

because I can

only during this sliver of time after bedtime

before I succumb to complete exhaustion

I already fell asleep at 6:30

leaned back against the couch and nodded off

trying in vain to read ScienceNews twelve hours into the day

with the kids bouncing chasing laughing right there

I hit my wall

That was three and a half hours ago

Hubby clocked out sometime during teeth brushing and stories

leaned back against the couch and nodded off

leaving me the evening shift

I urged him to bed selfishly

to protect my sleep later

lest he make his way upstairs at three a.m.

as he’s wont to do

Teeth brushing and stories was followed by dish washing

and putting food away, wiping down counters, picking up

Pouring myself a glass of wine

getting a soft chocolate cookie down from the high cupboard

centering it on my favorite small round black dessert plate

Laptop pillow crossed feet, sigh

try to breathe

I’m not making this next part up:

Footsteps on the stairs

Can’t sleep someone turned the hall light off scared

Resigned I get up silently

reach out my hand and we head slowly back up for another tuck in

and I try to start over

I don’t even want the wine

or the cookie

My body isn’t asking for them and they won’t satisfy what I do need

but they are symbolic

of taking a break of treating myself, of choreographing a moment

If I’m not careful

I’ll end up fat and diabetic (but still unfulfilled) from years of overdoing it on the symbols

I need sleep

But I also desperately crave being alone

Motherhood has cruelly pitted these two needs against each other

To make it worse

I also desperately crave connection

but there are only so many hours in the day, so you have to let something go

(plus Hubby already clocked out)

I sat there and googled “lonely motherhood”

and was not surprised to find pages of hits

Dozens of blog posts, of course, but also newspaper features and even a scientific article

Plenty to assure me that I’m not alone, ha ha

Reading some of it felt better than the cookie, which I ate anyway

crumbs and all

and every last drop of the wine

because they were something

Then I googled “lonely fatherhood” and basically it’s not even a thing

not surprised

Apparently though, there are millions of lonely mothers

all trapped by their sleeping children

late at night in their houses

craving connection and alone time and sleep

forced into compromising on all three

in the final minutes of the day  

Two Ninety Nine

what if it were my real job?

then would it be okay that they mindlessly eat breakfast during the second hour

of Tom & Jerry?

while I sit here nourishing myself on waffles and the laptop

surely, I can justify the $2.99 download

if it’s childcare for work

what about for unpaid work?

housework?

to read to eat my breakfast in peace?

for pursuing a passion?

multiply the corresponding level of guilt, divide by the amount of energy you have

raise to the power of what else is on your plate today

factor in cultural expectations

(well, your own impossible expectations of yourself, I mean)

and consider the iTunes bill so far this month

and how many hours have they played outside

well, there’s even more to it-this set of formulas I use to determine whether it’s okay

I couldn’t possibly explain it all to you right now

how quickly I run through the calculations while I slowly stir sugar into my coffee

and contemplate my next (immediate) move

open the laptop and push away the guilt

and that nagging question about the passion

(do I have enough?)

(how do I know?)

(really, is it okay or not, would somebody please tell me, this is the unknown in my equation still, to pay for childcare, to justify the expense, to plug them in or drop them off ignore forget
be someone without them
for a passion?
or only for work?

paid work, right?)

it’s only $2.99

only one morning

only my life

three bites in she’s insisting to be on my lap

dragging cut up bananas and tangled hair and her attention away from the screen

setting her plate between me and the laptop

going back for her napkin buys me another few lines

a short moment to switch gears
recalculating my next (immediate) move

The Difference

I looked her up online

she’s a real one

looking for clues to the how

how can she do it?

with three?

there’s a picture of her desk online

it’s just a slightly messy desk on hardwood floor in the middle of the house with evidence of
kid stuff all around

not a special office hideaway retreat space dedicated quiet clean

a lot like my desk, house, hardwood floors
kid stuff all around

so I have no excuse

well, there’s the MFA and the job teaching writing

and the long list of what’s been published already

that I lack

but we’re the same age, hair color, freckles busy distracted

the other one also had the degree professional official resume publications

plus unique upbringing, memoir worthy

interesting

and blonde

but then I found out about her by sitting across from her

at a training

because some of the work we do is the same, actually

with the same qualifications

but I’m not blonde or memoir worthy, so, there’s that

and they started a long time ago and focused on this more and some other excuses

wait, I have them here somewhere

they claim, they all claim, when I look them all up

the real ones

in my search for the clues to the how

to fight self-doubt and -loathing and fear and all the things I’m feeling

so that’s the same

and makes them seem not so special after all

but then what is the difference?

is it just the doing it?

I fear I don’t care enough

just an A minus B plus kind of care

like I always was in writing classes

just enough to want to write the first time but, oh, the editing

well,

yeah I know how important it is blah blah

I’ve told my students that, insisted upon it myself

but the editing is

a judgment

and boring like practicing piano

and living up to someone else’s standards of what it is supposed to be

maybe it’s all about the editing

committing to worrying about someone else’s standards of what it is supposed to be

that’s my sticking point

or maybe it’s the not worrying about someone else’s standards of what it is supposed to be

it could be that, the confidence

or is it just the doing it?

Ugliness

SCENE: Drying off Turtle after his shower, rubbing the towel on his wet hair.



Me:  You are soooo cute!  [smothering with kisses] But I would still love you even if you were ugly!

Turtle: No you wouldn't!

Me: Yes I would! (because I don't want him to think that my love is contingent upon his good looks godforbid something happen and he becomes disfigured and worries that I won't love him anymore yes I actually thought that in that moment that's just how my crazy mom brain works) 


Turtle: No, you wouldn't because I would be mean to you and hurt your feelings!

Me: Oh... you mean you would be acting ugly?

Turtle: Yeah, [giving me the duh! look] that's what ugly is, Mom.  Acting ugly, being not nice.

Me: Right... [taken aback]




He genuinely wasn't getting that when I said "ugly" I meant ugly in appearance.  His operating definition of ugly is totally different.  (And is probably the good early childhood development teacher definition of ugly that has been instilled to him at circle time over the years, because we've never really particularly talked about any kind of ugly together.)

Which made me really reflect on my focus on looks when I said ugly.

I hope he can hang onto his definition and remain oblivious to the concept of physical ugliness for as long as possible.


It's really lovely to have a son who is not ugly (by his definition).

The Myth of the Put Together Mom

I can't tell you how many times I am out and about and see these really put together moms that make me feel so frazzled and frumpy.  You know the ones.  Standing in line at Starbucks in their freshly washed form-fitting black yoga pants and cute colorful top with coordinated earrings, silky recently trimmed hair pulled back into an easy pony, stylish purse over their arm, spring in their step, trendy diaper bag hanging off of spotless sporty stroller with GapKids ad baby cutely smiling and flirting with all the customers while well-behaved, well-dressed grade school siblings stand sweetly by, smug smiles of satisfaction on the moms' well-rested moisturized faces as they contemplate another perfect day of exercise, orderly organic picnic in the park playdate, working on that novel while the kids nap, and whipping up a gourmet dinner followed by relaxing with wine while the eldest kid reads to the others at bedtime, kisses for all, and a grown up evening of sophisticated talk and sex before 8 hours of sleep on Egyptian cotton 1200 thread count sheets.

Who are these people?!  And why do they have to exist? They only serve to highlight my ratty hair long overdue for color and cut, postpartum belly stuffed into ill fitting pants, stained loose tee with fresh baby snot on the shoulders, exasperating unwashed children with bed heads, and constantly overwhelmed feeling of having more to do than I will ever get done combined with inadequacy and guilt over my staggering (to my pre-mom self) lack of efficiency and productivity each day.

So, the other day I was getting ready in the morning.  The kids, who happened to be freshly bathed and have cute, clean outfits on, were happily entertaining each other in the living room.  I had time to brush my hair and find a nice outfit that fit well.  The eldest helped me pack the diaper bag and car for our outing.  We decided to hit Starbucks before hitting the road.  The baby smiled sweetly out of my arms and flirted with people in line.  Her brother selected his organic chocolate milk, got napkins for all of us, saved us a table and enthusiastically greeted a neighbor we know.  Little sister cheerfully ate her Cheerios while dancing endearingly around our table.  I think I had a little smile on my face as I felt well-rested and happy contemplating the fun day we had in store.

Suddenly, it hit me.  Here I was probably looking pretty well put together in the eyes of some poor other mom who walked in and was feeling frazzled, frumpy, and overwhelmed.  Oh no!  The last thing I wanted to do was induce those same feelings of inadequacy and frustration in someone else.

I think we need some kind of symbol.  A little pin we can wear that signifies "Oh, don't worry!  I'm an exhausted and overwhelmed mom, too.  We're in this together!  I just happen to be having a one out of a hundred morning here.  And it won't last, I assure you.  A few hours from now these well coiffed kids will be melting down and these yoga pants will be ripped and I'll snap at somebody.  The baby won't go down for her nap and we'll all end up eating McDonalds for dinner and putting the kids to bed too late without baths before falling asleep on the couch without finishing those emails I was supposed to send by the morning."

I thought about how when I see those seemingly well put together moms, it could be that it's their one in a hundred morning that I'm just catching a few minutes of and I shouldn't compare myself to them and assume they've got things under control any more than I do, right?  I mean, probably that's the case.  Well, hopefully.

See, that's where the pin would help.

I Have Been Writing...

I have been writing
appointments and post-its, endless post-its
I have been taking the time to write notes to summarize meetings that take time away from me
I have been writing
how to spell certain words and what we're out of
I have been writing
emails to take care of things
the kids' names on labels
to do lists
I have been writing
lesson plans and html code and letters to the teacher
I recently watched a TED talk about writing poetry
I recently read an article about writing
I recently bought a book about how to encourage your child to write
I recently made a "book making kit" for my 6-year old
I have been writing
notes to remind me of things I'd like to write about and stuffing them in my grandmother's wooden secretary and my digital folders
I have been dreaming about writing
but
I have not been writing

- 04.01.12

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.) 

Is That With A Capital S?

Today Turtle and I were engaged in my Supermom-designed-home-summer-literacy-program, which consists of dragging him around town doing errands and trying to get him to read street and building signs out the window when we are at red lights.  We saw a sign that said "Safari Camp" and I asked him if he knew what safari meant.


His answer:   "Yeah, it's that place that you go to go on Google"


Huh?  Oh. Right. Safari. The browser.  Ahh, how sad and funny at the same time.


After, he was confused as to why I was laughing and laughing.  I tried to explain, you know about real safaris and why they named the software that and how old people like me knew about real safaris before Safari but he only knows about Safari, not safaris...but it was all totally lost on him.


So what did he image they do at Safari Camp?  All the kids sit around and 'go on Google' all day?  It's a big room filled with computers and kids all staring glassy eyed at the screens. What a camp.  -- Huh! Actually, knowing Silicon Valley, there are probably lots of camps like that.  Yikes.


Mental note:  Take my kid on a real safari-or a close facsimile of-quick!

What I Learned in Kindergarden

On the last day of kindergarden, my mom asked Turtle what the three most important things were that he learned this year. He thought and thought and said 


 "math...." 


 silence: more thinking


"...reading..."


more silence: more thinking


"...and...writing"


The 3 "R's"!  We eyed each other and cracked up.  I swear, this wasn't scripted!  I'm not sure what I expected him to say, I guess much more specific things that were of interest to him, but not this textbook answer. The follow up question was what were the three most fun things that he learned.


These came immediately and in rapid succession: "snackandrecesslunchandrecessandfreechoice!"  


Again, I must have been hoping for art, music, PE, a field trip, something...


Shrug.  All very classic Turtle.  He's a very no-nonsense kid who usually has things pegged just exactly right.  He's totally right about which things were the most important and he's totally honest about what was the most fun- the only three times of day he got to do whatever he wanted! 


(*BTW, related side story:  Tonight Backtire was relaying to us how he took a 2.5 hour lunch to take a motorcycle ride with some co-workers, the first time he's taken a ride in months and months and an unheard of break from his typically intense schedule.  Turtle, incredulous, said "they let you out for that at work?  You have a lucky work!"  Let you out.  Spoken like a kid who has now been fully indoctrinated into the school system.  Sigh.)  


(Yay!  Crumpling a post-it never felt so good... onto more...) 

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!

F*&n Update

My boys returned from a bike ride this afternoon and shared the story of the unleashed pitbull who was growling and running toward them and how they had to yell at the dog and, later, the owner. Best part of the telling?

Turtle (gravely): Mommy, the dog was so mean and scary that Daddy had to say fucken.

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.)

Quarters of Conversation

Two of my most favorite pieces of descriptive writing. Oh, that I could learn to write like this!

"Around the watchers, the city still made its everyday noises. Car horns. Garbage trucks. Ferry whistles. The thrum of the subway. The M22 bus pulled in against the sidewalk, braked, sighed down into a pothole. A flying chocolate wrapper touched against a fire hydrant. Taxi doors slammed. Bits of trash sparred in the darkest reaches of the alleyways. Sneakers found their sweetspots. The leather of briefcases rubbed against trouserlegs. A few umbrella tips clinked against the pavement. Revolving doors pushed quarters of conversation out into the street."

-Let The Great World Spin, Clum McCann

"There were many seas. The sea roared like a tiger. The sea whispered in your ear like a friend telling you secrets. The sea clinked like small change in a pocket. The sea thundered like avalanches. The sea hissed like sandpaper working on wood. The sea sounded like someone vomiting. The sea was dead silent."

-Life of Pi, Yann Martel

I think writing like this comes from being able to observe the city or the sea with such focus that these details become apparent and can be recorded. Or can you sit at a desk and just imagine them? And then choosing just the right words- thrum, sighed, touched, sparred, pushed quarters of conversation...whispered, clinked, hissed. I just noticed that these are all verbs, not adjectives. I always thought to be descriptive you had to choose the right adjectives. Hmmm. Does this come naturally to these writers? Or do they have to work at it?

What Should Your X-Year Old Know?

A friend sent this to me and I think it's great. You know all those "What your 5-year old/kindergartener/2nd grader should know" books? Here's the answer to what your kid should know.

Sick of Nesting

(photo credit: http://myheelsarehigherthanyours.blogspot.com/2011_01_01_archive.html)

I can't stand it anymore. My due date is tomorrow and she still isn't here. If she doesn't come by Tuesday morning, I have to have the dreaded appointment where my doctor & I discuss induction.

My first day of maternity leave was April 4, 12 days ago, not that I'm counting. The first couple of days were relaxing and fun and happily productive. Since then I've gone through multiple roller coaster ups & downs of peacefulness, anxiety, restfulness, restlessness, enjoyment of the spring sunshine and moving at a slow pace, extreme boredom, enjoyment of quality family time, impatience, enjoyment of me time, loneliness...

I've written and finished multiple iterations of to do lists, created projects for myself just to have something to do, dredged up stale tasks that have been avoided for years and taken care of them, and generally driven myself nuts. I'm a person who nests even when I'm not pregnant, anytime there's a spare moment to organize or prepare something, so being pregnant and off of work is a really bad combination for me.

Here's a list of what I've done for the past 12 days and I'm sure it's not even completely exhaustive:

1. Went to Michael’s to buy scrapbooking stuff
2. Created 10 scrapbook layouts
3. Returned an item at Michael’s, browsed around for a long time to replace it
4. Organized all the ripped out of magazine recipes into recipe notebook
5. Tried 4 new recipes
6. Baked banana bread, ate 25%, froze 75%
7. Stocked up the freezer
8. Prepared soil in two raised garden beds, stopping every few minutes to catch breath
9. Planted seeds, installed labels, tomato cages & bean poles in garden beds
10. Watered the garden beds each day
11. Rinsed, sorted, and culled all the backyard sand toys, riding toys, trucks & balls, re-organized into bins
12. Re-arranged backyard furniture, playhouse, slide, & basketball hoop
13. Had a service demo and remove old shed, along with some other yard junk
14. Broke down and recycled accumulated cardboard boxes
15. Cleaned & dried the ice chest
16. Hung up wind chimes now that the too windy season is over
17. Installed elbow on outdoor spigot
18. Threw out broken 25’ coiled hose
19. Unwound & rinsed spider webs off of 100’ hose, stopping often to catch breath
20. Installed hose winder to new elbow with new connector hose & seal
21. Wound 100’ hose into hose winder, stopping every few turns to catch breath
22. Realized 100’ hose leaked where connected to winder and is too heavy, annoying to actually practically use on a daily basis
23. *Replaced 100’ hose with new 50’ hose on hose winder
24. Realized really never liked hose winder at all
25. *Purchased basket to wind hose into instead
26. Washed all the remaining unwashed baby clothes
27. *Installed curtain rod and curtain in nursery
28. Sat in nursery in contemplation
29. Washed & changed all the bed linens
30. Stocked up on post-partum supplies
31. Moved alarm clock to Backtire’s side of the bed since I’m not waking up for work anymore
32. Moved alarm clock back to my side to time contractions one night
33. Got excited & nervous after 2 hours of 10 min apart contractions
34. Called doula & brother-in-law to put them on alert
35. Kept timing contractions that went on every 10 min for 8 hours, but then just stopped
36. Texted doula that nothing ended up happening
37. Got really bummed out
38. Organized Turtle’s bookshelves, stopping just short of using the Dewey Decimal system
39. Went through Turtle’s dresser and closet, pulling out outgrown clothes, putting out the next size up
40. Did near daily small loads of laundry to just “stay on top of it”
41. Went through 4 filing cabinet drawers, thinning, re-organizing, re-labeling, and shredding
42. Created a rock & mineral kit with accompanying explanatory book for Turtle’s preschool classroom, delivered it & used it with the kids
43. Checked and kept up with work email daily
44. Filled out work paperwork
45. Renewed my teaching credential
46. Checked and kept up with personal email daily
47. Wiped the hard drive of, found the accessories to, posted on craigslist, & met with buyer to sell old laptop
48. Went through computer accessory box, culled, set aside e-waste
49. Went on near daily walks to Starbucks to drink, eat, read, and kill time
50. Took Turtle to the park for 5 hours
51. Took Turtle out to breakfast twice
52. Met friend from work for lunch date
53. Went on a lunch date with my mom
54. Toured the house for sale on my street
55. Dyed my hair
56. Drove to distant mall to exchange one of Turtle’s birthday gifts
57. Used gift certificate to order two pairs of shoes online
58. Received shoes, tried them on, called for return authorization for one pair
59. Packaged up one pair of shoes, went to UPS store to ship back to shoe store
60. Shipped birthday present to my brother
61. Set up, synced, and started learning how to use my new iPad2
62. Organized a bunch of files on work computer
63. Organized a bunch of files on home computer
64. Wrote & mailed a big pile of thank you notes
65. Supervised & battled with Turtle over writing & mailing one thank you note per day for his birthday gifts
66. Went through both bookshelves, re-organized books, pulled out ones to return or lend to people or give away
67. Found over 5 year old disposable camera and dropped off to be developed
68. Superglued broken toy
69. Read Pink Brain, Blue Brain
70. Read Eat, Pray, Love
71. Read Pope Joan
72. Read Free Range Kids
73. Read every current magazine in the house
74. Organized old National Geographics into piles for each of the last 4 years, started going back and reading the ones I never read
75. Read a bunch of blogs
76. Read chapters and chapters and chapters of The Borrowers, Ralph & The Motorcycle, The Trumpet of the Swan, etc. to Turtle
77. Watched about 20 TED talks
78. Watched Away We Go
79. Watched The Social Network
80. Took in a matinee of The King’s Speech
81. Called my mom
82. Called my sister
83. Called my friends
84. Texted my friends

(*To be fair, Backtire actually did these 3 tasks. But I led the charge.)

What's left? Perhaps I'll have to go gather some twigs, grass, and mud and start building an actual nest.

If you see something like this in my front yard, you'll know I've gone overdue...

(If you want to see more, check out the artist, Patrick Dougherty.)