Paddling

I am a duck on a pond lately. On the surface I look like I’m holding things together well, but underneath it all…

Life, it seems, is always in a state of flux. Generally I’m fine with that. How monotonous would life be if it were ever constant? But lately, there’s a little too much moving at once and I feel a tumbling within; the unmistakable notion that sooner or later I’m going to outwardly panic.

When it comes to parenting I’m in a constant sea of motion, tackling one phase which is inevitably followed, and sometimes even blended, into another. When you have two children it makes things all the more complicated; a constant switching of gears to attend to the needs of both. Add in my son’s new found lingual ability to make his issues known, and things just got a hell of a lot more problematic. Example: The eldest can no longer take a toy from her brother and get away with it. I’ve got a little dude wrapped around my legs, pointing and crying, “YaYa!! Ball!!” YaYa, as he calls my daughter, has the ball in hand, and knows that I have no idea if she actually took it away from him. She will look me square in the face and proclaim her innocence of the offense with a swift, “I had it first”. With one kid’s word against the other, add the role of arbitration to my growing list of responsibilities.

The constant bickering of two little ones, the house and all the things that can and do go wrong with it, the cleaning that never stops and will only promise to get worse if ignored, the ever constant laundry, the bills that need to be paid, the new kids shoes that require purchase, the mice invasion that I can’t even begin talk about right now, the two birthday parties for my children that are looming around the corner and are as of yet unplanned, and the enormous relocation at my office that is about to take place, which will have a mammoth impact on all of our lives…

Deep breath. That last one? That one is that final proverbial straw on the camel’s back. My work-life is about to alter drastically, and only time will tell if it will be for the better. As I have now started diving into the programming that will facilitate this colossal change, it’s becoming all the more real. This is happening. All the other aspects of my life, where I go through the motions every day (with little understanding of how it works except to say that my kids are clean, fed, dressed, my house isn’t totally falling apart, and day to day everyone seems relatively happy), they will all just keep on going. They will just keep evolving the way they always do, and we will have to find a way to make this other massive alteration fit.

With all this upheaval forthcoming, toting with it all this worry, all this uncertainty, all this not knowing how well I’ll cope, I get that infantile yearn to run…hide…get away from it all. Not be Mommy, not be the steadfast employee. Not be who I am. Obviously I get over it, but when it comes to change, I have a tendency to privately panic...it’s just a question of how and to what degree. For my face to the world, my outer adult has more power over the inner child. That little child, however, she’s unsettled, nervous, and she’s been creeping. With everything else going on right now, I’m adding to my “to do” list the need to keep her in check…to remain a duck on a pond.

Villains

Why does that woman want to steal the little Dalmatian doggies? Well, my dear daughter, that mean looking lady wanted to kill those cute little puppies, take the skin from their dead bodies, and use it to make herself a fine looking, brand new winter fur coat.

OK fine, that was an inner monologue. My actual answer to the plot behind 101 Dalmatians was, at best, vague. Alright, it was a flat out lie. To spare me some time to work out how I would eventually answer, I loftily stated, “I don’t remember, honey…it’s been a long time since I’ve seen it.”

Let’s backtrack. Last weekend while visiting my parents, Sofia was diving into some old Disney VHS tapes that my mom had saved for the kids’ viewing pleasure. Earlier in the day she had found Snow White, and begged to watch it. This presented a wee bit of a problem. I’ve been reading the story of Snow White to her for several months now (over, and over, and oh-my-god-save-me over), but I have a tendency to tweak the bad parts. The whole, ‘Hey you. Woodsman. Take that Snow White out to the forest, kill her, and bring me back her heart in this here box to prove it’ bit? I change up the story big time.

Were I to let Sofia watch the movie, there would be no mistaking the plot change. I had concern over how much she would understand, and in turn be frightened. I’ve had this conundrum before. Though animated and meant for children, there’s no mistaking it that Disney can present some disturbing hard life lessons, fully equipped with the suggestion that villains are very real. I suffer inwardly with how much exposure to this tainted world I want my not quite four year old daughter to receive. I worry that once she is exposed she will conclude that some form of this world could truly exist. I'm not blind to the fact that she probably already has an inkling (even some kids at the age of three can be pretty darn cruel), but for my part I'd like to keep the issue at bay as long as possible.

In the end I relented and let Sofia watch Snow White. Prior to I had a discussion with her that she should keep in mind that the story is not real, and if she became scared she should let me know. I looked at her wearily as she watched Snow White cower from the Woodsman’s raised blade and then run for her life through the dark woods; its branches turning into ghostly hands and reaching to take hold of her clothing. She stared at the screen wide-eyed, but did not appear to be afraid. I sighed that perhaps I do not give her enough credit.

While I do consider Snow White to be much worse than 101 Dalmatians, I was able to postpone her viewing of the proposed puppy slaughter until her next visit to my parents’ house. I told myself that she will likely forget about it by then. When am I going to realize that I should know better than this? It’s been 4 days, and she has mentioned Cruella Deville every day, multiple times a day ever since she first spied that puppy-ful tape case.

What is that mean woman’s name again?
Why does she want to steal the puppies?
When are we going to Nonnie and Papa’s to watch it?

My curious little girl, she really wants to find out who this Cruella woman is all about. Sometimes I just wish I could keep out the bad stuff. But in reality I know without the villains to be triumphed, Sofia just wouldn't find the stories all that interesting. I suppose if she's going to have heroes to look up to, she's going to need to experience her share of villains.

Fear

In my dream I am in my bedroom, just sitting on the bed. As I stare at myself in the dresser mirror, my mind is blank. I’m supposed to be doing something right now, but what? I glance over at the bathroom door and I can see that it is shut. With a fury of panic, I remember: it is bath time.

With my stomach in my throat and my heart plummeting I burst through the door and peer at the tub. She’s lying there unmoving several inches under water. Her soft curls are floating around her. She looks as peaceful as she did during the many hours of infancy when I watched her sleep.

Yet, she’s cold. Pale. Gone.

I stretch out my arms in a futile race to save my daughter, but before my finger tips can breach the surface of the water I awaken. Gasping for air, shaking, and covered in cold sweat, I find my wits enough to listen to the sounds around me. I can hear the calm, steady breathing of my children through the monitors keeping tabs on their bedrooms. I do my best to clear the horrific images that have crept up from the bowels of my subconscious, and lay there staring at my dark ceiling, waiting for sleep.

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This isn’t the norm for me. I don’t typically have dreams of my children’s demise at the hand of my own incompetency. I don’t ever imagine a time where I would “forget” that one of my children is taking a bath, and just go hang out somewhere else for a while.

But the subconscious mind is a tricky thing. For me, it created an unlikely event to represent a very real fear. As parents, especially of young ones, our days are filled with literally steering our children in the opposite direction of harm. Never could I have imagined while pregnant with my first child that the upcoming years would require such CONSTANT VIGILANCE. That’s exactly what it takes. It’s those split second moments that scare me. It could be a fraction of time when you’re not looking; a sleep deprived error; a new-parent bad decision. There is always a little something inside me that is asking, “Am I doing everything I could do, should do, to keep them safe?”

When my eldest was only a few months old my husband and I took her on our first short family trip out of the house to Babies R Us. It was a cold night and I had her bundled up in her infant seat in a warm jacket and blanket. She was sleeping, and so not to disturb her I pushed her around in her stroller, ogling all the cute baby girl clothing I wanted to buy.

After a while I took a break from my scouring of the racks to look down at my little girl, and saw that her lips had a blue tint to them. I screamed for my husband and we promptly removed her from her coverings and blanket. My husband picked her up and after several attempts to stir her, in what felt like minutes but was surely seconds, she awoke. Her color returned.

It was a stupid mistake. I was so concerned about keeping her warm, I had bundled her too tightly. I didn’t even think about that fact that once inside the store I should have removed her layers. We did not suffer consequences that day, but none the less it was a harsh lesson that had me questioning my capabilities. I was so embarrassed by my failure with our first attempt at emerging from our home with our child that I never told the story to a soul; until now.

I know any mother, and I’m sure fathers too, must have moments when they allow their darkest and deepest fears to creep to the forefront. If you’re like me you allow them their flash of warning and then shake them away. I try to find balance by allowing the thoughts the respect of possibility, but then store them aside where they belong and move on with life. Still, with ever constant vigilance.

BlogHer, Unattended

I’ve been a little bitter this past week. My complexion was radiating a mightily distinct shade of green. I knew it was coming, and that I had no intention of going. The chatter and excitement in the blogosphere that led up to the highly anticipated BlogHer ’09 conference in Chicago was making me itch with a desire to be a part of it. I simply had to take in every drop of enthusiasm brought to life in the form of posts and tweets from my fellow bloggers with tickets, drooling as they polished off their business cards and fretted over which strappy sandals to pack. “Damn”, I said as I imagined stuffing my favorite Bandolinos into a suitcase, “I don’t even have business cards. I’m SO not ready for this.”

I told myself I was too new at the whole blogging thing to warrant attendance to a conference. I didn’t feel as though I had quite earned my badge. I thought loftily that next year, next year I’d be ready. So I sat back and by the power of Twitter watched it all unfold from my laptop.

Wow.

Stop by any of the popular parenting sites, and you’re bound to get a personal recap from those who attended…and some have painted none too pretty a picture. There are endless stories of women mobbing the marketing expo for free gifts, pushing and shoving their way with little concern for the safety of others, people whose only interest was to get free stuff; and others who simply acted unprofessional in general.

Those who have been writing blogs dating back to the times of online journals, and who have been attending the conference for years, saw their happy gathering of typing souls morphing before their eyes. They were embarrassed by what took place, and frustrated and torn by the desire to see their blogging community flourish, but not to change like this. They were concerned that the women who acted less than stellar clouded the reflection of bloggers in general. I think Mom-101 said it best that “our actions- for better of for worse…reflect on the entire community.”

I felt for these women who continue to see their world alter with the onslaught of new bloggers popping up everywhere; the face to the name blogger is changing daily, and not always for the better.

There were of course, others that had a wonderful time, enjoyed the seminars, and didn’t notice much of the drama that took place. That’s the kind of BlogHer I was expecting to hear about; the kind I want to see.

Regardless, where does this leave me? I am new to this world, this entity that is the blogosphere. I am fueled by the desire to write, to share, to experience, to read, to be read, to be understood, to entertain, to provoke thought, and to be a part of this vast community. I am one. I am one of oh, so many.

Registration for BlogHer ’10 is already underway. It is in New York, and as I picture myself, a brave solo traveler, bags packed, driving to the Big Apple with my cds blearing my favorite songs as I sing at the top of my lungs in total excitement of the days ahead; I stop and wonder.

Is this for me? Am I bold enough to go on my own, not knowing a single soul in person, and not having made enough personal connections to have my own BlogHer Buddies? Do I qualify in my own mind as worthy? Do I qualify yet in the minds of others? Does it matter?

But also, is it worth it? This is not a business venture for me. This is writing for the shear compulsion to write. I will not be sponsored, and the trip would be entirely out of my own pocket. Is it financially wise in these times to simply go for the desire of the experience, with hopes to learn ways to better this little hobby of mine?

These are the questions I am facing. The answers I had best decide upon soon…BlogHer ’10 will sell out in no time.

Lessons: I've Learned a Few

A few odds and ends I’ve learned now that I am a mother of young children:

Your chances of leaving the house without a smudge of bodily fluid on your shirt or pants are slim to none.

There are some truly psychotic kids’ TV shows out there. I’m lookin’ at YOU Boo-Bah.

Three-year-olds can conjugate compound verbs. Be prepared when you’re driving and someone cuts you off, and you ever so accidentally blurt out “FRACK!!!!” Your preschooler might just inquire, “Mama, why are you fracking?” (PG version enabled for sensitive eyes)

Milk vomit: That stank is super hard to get out of couches and carpet. Especially when it leaks between the cushion cracks of your sectional (the parts that don’t separate). Good luck with that.

Long road trip? Your toddler will not let you down, and ensure that he requires a poop change every hour.

Noise making, light sensitive peg puzzles are the devil’s way of making sure your child is wide awake with the first ray of sunshine. Pieces get lost, and the moment the light changes in the room your little one’s peaceful slumber is interrupted by, “MOOOO!!! MOOOO!!!”

If you have two children, you really don’t get a proper sense of the sibling bonding that is being forged until you have received an eye and earful of the two sharing a joint tantrum, fully equipped with the same doe eyed, tear strewn, mouth agape faces that can now expel perfectly synchronized gasps and wails.

Having kids means never being able to find one of your 12 coasters when you want one. I later find them strewn inconspicuously about the house. I don’t know what it is about them, but my kids go coo-coo for coasters. I’m seriously contemplating putting some in next year’s Xmas stockings, after which I will undoubtedly be awarded Best Mom EVER.

Everyone’s ready to leave in the morning. You’ve got bags slung over your shoulders, your three year old finally has on her shoes and is carrying her stuffed animal, books, book bag full of toy cars (sans books), and cell phone. With a coffee in one hand, you reach down to pick up your toddler with the other, and catch that unmistakable aroma fumigating from his backside. You glance at the clock, knowing you’re already running late, and calculate in your head how much longer he can sit in it. You shrug, say screw it, hoist him up, and tell yourself he’ll live though the 10 minute car ride to daycare. You then pass him off to his teachers with an apologetic, “Sorry, I think he pooped on the ride over.”*

* They agree to change him with a smile, but know you’re totally lying. **

** You pull the same stunt with your mother in law, but she also knows you’re lying. ***

***The difference is she calls you out on it.

Not to be entirely sarcastic, I’ll end with one relatively sappy notation:

The first time your toddler looks at you and says, “Mama, I love you” will expand your heart to capacity and at the same time crush it into a heap of tiny-finger-wrapped pieces. This all occurs in one unbelievably endearing, bleary eyed, jaw dropping moment, and stays with you forever.

The Why Factor

Help!!! Send reinforcements, pronto.

A new stage has begun at the Mom et al household, one that I never saw coming. It started off slowly, that preschool curiosity. Little questions here and there pop into my daughter’s three year old brain, and require an immediate response from the Mommy and Daddy Authorities of All Knowing. Some are easy enough to answer, but as of late there is always a follow up.

“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to take a shower.”
“Why?”
“So I can clean up.”
“Why?”
“I have to go to work.”
“Why do you have to go to work?”
“It’s my job.”
“Why is it your job? “
“I need to make money so I can take care of us.”
“Why?”
“So we can live in this nice house and buy you food and clothing.”
“Why do you need to buy food and clothing?”

This keeps going. Mind you, I haven’t had a drop of coffee yet, and we’ve already had over ten other conversations of similar fashion.

I look at my daughter, and I can almost see the wheels turning in her brain as we shuffle our way through various topics. She’s not trying to piss me off with these ungodly early-hour extended conversations; she just truly wants to know. I’m puzzled with how to handle this. I tend to keep answering her until I reach a level of frustration, or find myself unsure of how to respond to her most recent inquiry. Sometimes, I’m just all out of ideas for the impromptu answers that I’m trying to make up.

While reading a book:
“Why does Hannah really like hot pink?”
“It’s her favorite color.”
“Why?”
“Because she likes it more than any other color.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why, it’s just what she likes. You have a favorite color too, right?”
“Yes. OK, then why are her pants wet?”
“Because she had an accident.”
“Well, why are they dry on the next page?”
“Uh…because it’s later and they are dry now.”
“Why didn’t she change clothes if she had an accident?”
“Uh…”

So, did you see what I did there, midway through the conversation? How I tried to answer her question with another question? I think I’m so clever, that I can put an end to the color inquisition. But it’s no matter to my little brainiac; we’ll just move on to the next topic.

Yesterday morning she asked me why the shower head has all the different little holes on it. I confess that having already gone through a multitude of conversations to this point I pretty much just snapped at her, “Because it does.”

Nice. Way to encourage there, Mom. I definitely need to work on my question-answering skills. I love that she’s so curious and actually has the desire to know why shower heads are designed the way they are, but I have to be honest. Sometimes I wish I could save my sanity just a smidgen and tell her:

“That’s a great question. Why don’t you Google it?”

Holiday Goings On

Years ago, had you asked me to describe our festivities over the July 4th weekend, I would have blathered on about parties, friends, beer, the Cape, beer, music, beer, fun, and oh so much more beer. Mix it up with a little cribbage here, some pitch there, and an array of food to offset the uh, did I mention beer? We had quite a time.

That was years ago, and while I still indulge in a few frosty beverages, the scenery and the company have vastly changed. It is with wistful appreciation that I say gone are the weekends on the Cape. Gone are the three day parties. My liver couldn't handle them anymore anyway.

Tony and I spent the weekend at home with the kids. While we did enjoy our share of lovely ice cold Coronas, we were decidedly low key in comparison to the days of yore. We had a small cookout with my parents and played outside with our little ones.

Sofia enjoyed her first steamers, and I was blown away as I watched my three year old gobble them down; so much like her mommy.

Clean...

Dip in butter...

Yum!
The next day we took advantage of the short lived great weather and went to the park. Temperaments (for adults and children alike) are so much sweeter after a day spent frolicking outdoors.

How did you celebrate our country’s birthday? Common now, de-lurk! I would love to hear from you.

On a side note, I was just surfing through my old postings looking for some writing samples, when it hit me: I’ve been writing this blog for a year now. It’s been an adventure, one that I hope to continue for a long time. Whether you’re just stopping by, or have been following my journey for a while, thank you for reading!