Missing out

I keep telling myself that if Bryce does not feel like he is missing out, I shouldn't feel sorry either. I was looking at another friend's blog, one who has a baby who is younger but far more physically able, and I was sad that Bryce couldn't walk by himself and hold his own trick-or-treat bucket tonight. According to his dad, he was not allowed to trick-or-treat at all because he couldn't walk. At first we towed him in a wagon, where he looked small and sad. Then he started to get angry about the whole deal. I think he realized the older kids were getting something good and he clearly was not. So I took him out and carried him to the door of the next house, where he hollered until I let him at the candy bowl. Then he acted afraid of the lady who tried to give him a piece and didn't really want to take the thing, acted like it was being forced upon him. Ugh. So much for being grateful. One of my pet peeves is people who dress up their babies and get candy those same kids can't even eat, and I am sure that is what we looked like. Or I wondered if people were wondering why that toddler wasn't walking by himself. Most likely no one really cared that much.

I tried to hang around in the back while the older kids got their candy and only go to the door if Bryce demanded it. He went to a few other places and the same sorry scene repeated, save one house at the end where they were very sweetly passing out boxes of animal crackers to the ones too little to eat candy. He did look very cute in his borrowed cow costume and that family was so charmed by him that they took a photo of the wife (a nice grandmotherly type) giving Bryce the cookies. That is the part of the night I want to remember, not him screaming to be put down on the wet pavement, where I was not going to let him just sit or crawl around in the dark, which is what he seemed to want to do, or squawking and refusing the candy he had just demanded. I got him to walk a little bit holding my hands, but he is still so unsteady and it hurts my back to hobble along over him that we couldn't keep it up for too long.

It did not help matters that our other child was whining loudly, saying she was too tired to go on and that her candy bucket was too heavy. Can you believe that? A kid complaining she has too much candy. What is wrong with my children?! At one point they were both in the wagon, and Bryce was NOT happy to be sharing it with his sister and her horse costume, pardon me, pegasus-unicorn costume. So they were both whining. Evidently neither one believes in that old adage about children being seen but not heard. Meanwhile our friends' children were skipping ahead, literally running to each house. The only thing they were scolded for was running too far ahead of us, unlike our whiny lumps who wanted to be carried to the next house, or to just sit in the wagon and eat candy.

I think part of the problem is that I have in my head what things should be like (for instance Halloween should be like our friends' kids, who were full of energy and excitement and just so happy to be a part of everything). And then when the reality doesn't match it disappoints me. I think that is part of being a planner (and also a worrier). I try to anticipate the outcome. Sometimes things turn out better than I expect, and sometimes not. But that doesn't mean I want to change the experience or don't appreciate it. I have been doing a pretty good job of focusing on all of the things my kids can do and not dwelling on their shortcomings. This has been really important for me to do as Bryce is being left in the dust by every single baby in our playgroup, even the one who isn't even a year old. No, Bryce can't walk yet. But he can build a Lego tower nearly as tall as he is! And so much more. He is happy (most of the time) with all that he can do and that is what matters.

 

If I just move the coffeemaker...

If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, my attempts to reorganize the kitchen have been fairly insane. Three or maybe four times I have moved the coffeemaker from the right side of the sink to the left, with the sincere belief that this would make the kitchen function better. There is really only one small prep area in the whole kitchen, and the coffeemaker was taking up part of it. So I moved it to the other side of the sink near the phone. But then that cluttered up a swath of counter that I need to remain clear for my sanity. The rest of the kitchen can be a disaster, but if at least that one area is clear I feel a tiny bit better. (I need to point out that quite often that area is not clear because certain family members are incapable of going the extra three feet to the recycling bin outside and pile up bottles, cans, etc. there on the counter despite my pleas for one clear area. But that is another post.) So I moved the coffeemaker back to the right. After a year or so, I once again thought it would improve the flow of the kitchen if the coffeemaker was out of the prep area and I repeated the whole unsuccessful experiment. Insane.

I have been trying to move excess stuff off the counter and I had a sort of hole where the cat cookie jar (which holds tea bags) used to be. The cat is now on the windowsill. You've heard 40 is the new 30, well, the windowsill is the new counter: a place to display things, mostly gifts, which I can't seem to put in a closet somewhere. They have sentimental value, and also we have limited storage space. But I digress. So last weekend I had the brilliant idea to put the coffeemaker where the cat jar was. (Cat jar sounds sort of bad, like a jar full of cats.) This would free up my prep area and keep the area by the phone clear and still be near enough the sink and coffee cups. What more could I ask for?

Suddenly my insanity has turned into logic. The kitchen works better. I know this because I have managed to keep the counter tops clean for a miraculous five days in a row. Despite my husband. As I type this I see he has ditched a catalog, in my one little food prep area no less. Glad he is trying to keep my streak going.

The catalyst of burning rubber

I strongly dislike this house. I can't say I hate it, because it is our home, after all. But it drives me nuts on a daily basis. One of the keys to getting out of here is to finish what we've started, the biggest project being the basement. I got an estimate for the work a month or so ago and was stunned when it was more than double what we were told just a couple years ago. So I became temporarily paralyzed and just stopped thinking about it for a while. I got another number to call for a bid, but still did nothing. And then I smelled something burning.

I was preheating the oven to bake birthday cake for my husband and soon realized something was in the oven that shouldn't be. I have no idea how the little rubber stopper (for which we do not know the origin) ended up in the oven but it probably stuck to one of the pots and pans we store in there and fell to the bottom, which is where I found it, melting away. We have to store pots and pans in the oven because there is nowhere else to put them in the poorly designed kitchen. The poorly designed kitchen in which it is difficult to get anything done in the poorly designed house next to the annoying neighbors. A house in which we are stuck until it is finished (and the market goes up, ideally). Suddenly I was inspired. I scraped out the melting black thing and immediately looked up the phone number for the contractor a friend recommended. Amazing what a little burning rubber can do.

Self-inflicted torture

I have read that prisoners of war were tortured by being kept awake for days on end. It is psychological torture, one that doesn't leave physical marks and thus can be denied. And it is very effective. One's will can be broken after just a few days. As one POW described it, the need for sleep is incomparable, more powerful than even hunger or thirst.

So why would someone sign up for such torture? That is what I am currently asking myself. I knew I would lose some sleep after becoming a parent. It is a small price for pay for the endless joy my kids bring me. But I don't think I realized it would go on for so long. I left losing "some sleep" in the dust months ago. I am currently bordering on losing all sleep and comprehending all too well why the KGB used sleep deprivation to beat prisoners into submission. I certainly feel beaten. The worst thing is, I don't feel like I can complain much. I brought this on myself. It was my idea. I thought it would be fun. And it usually is fun. But it is hard to enjoy my kids when I am so tired I can't think straight. Or when one of them is likewise tired and not being particularly enjoyable.

I have it in my head that it is better to have my kids and be miserable than not have them at all. That I am lucky to be miserable. Even in my sleep-deprived state I see the irony. I don't, unfortunately, see an end in sight. I know years from now this will fade from memory. And I certainly don't want to wish this time away. I love my kids. I also would love some sleep. It makes me sad that the two are mutually exclusive at present. I know it will get better. It has to.

Stars

Last night I was out late watering my garden and I couldn't believe how many stars there were. I used to spend a lot of time looking at stars, wishing on stars. I remember many a night spent with one or both of my parents in our hot tub, my neck craned to search the dark sky for satellites or the rare but breathtaking shooting star. It was always so much more exciting when two of us spotted the same one. I don't think I could have articulated it at the time, but shooting stars, and many things in life, seem even more beautiful when shared. I would try to come up with especially important wishes for shooting stars, sure that they were more likely to come true. But I was happy to wish on regular stars in the meantime. I'd try to go outside with blinders on so that I only saw one star and could wish on it and truthfully say "first star I see tonight" even if there happened to be a dozen stars already visible. What a nut I was. Am. I still wish on stars occasionally. I find prayer more helpful, but wishing has its place in the world, too.

I wonder when I stopped making a point to watch the stars. When I started college, got busy with life? I am not sure, but I know it's been a while since I really stopped and looked. Last night there were so many stars it made me sorry I haven't noticed for so long. It is nearly a full moon so the sky is especially bright right now. I wished my daughter could see but of course I was not foolish enough to wake her up! She has had a fascination with the night sky lately and has been getting up in the middle of the night to peer out her window and stargaze. I know this because she tells me, "I counted seven stars last night!" or something similar. I also know this because her blinds are all askew in the morning. I can't tell her not to do it because she doesn't bother anyone. She thinks stars are beautiful and magical and who am I to discourage her from counting them or wishing on them? I taught her the "Star light, star bright" poem and her version is not quite right but very endearing. She wished one night for a scooter and not three days later did her friend Mitchell pass on his scooter to her when he couldn't take it to his new home. Coincidence? I think not!

So tonight after bath, I was very glad when I remembered the full moon and the starry sky and how much I knew she'd enjoy it. We spread out a blanket and stargazed for nearly an hour. I pointed out what I thought was Mars. She pointed out what she thought were all the other planets. And she counted stars. I think she got up to 37. She said there were probably a hundred. I told her probably a hundred million, though I realize that concept is a few years away from her grasp. She also had the idea to make letters with our bodies and I was surprised how good she was at this! The two of us parallel with my arms touching her made an H. If she laid perpendicular to me at my head, it made a T. And we did O and A and R and P and B. I never would have thought to do this with her and I love that she has such a good imagination. She is already so smart. I kept looking at her, at the adorable cheeks, the wide eyes, the wonder written all over her beautiful face, and felt like my heart might burst. Sometimes I can't believe she is really ours.

I hesitate to use the word perfect, but tonight came close. Being with my girl (and my husband, who was so tired he fell asleep next to us on the deck) appreciating the stars, the trees framing the night sky, the house where we have this amazing view, is about as good as it gets. I thank God for moments like this, when I am reminded of how much I have. Life is definitely more beautiful when shared.

Just a stay-at-home mom

Someone said this to me today, an old friend (former coworker) who was visiting. So you're just a stay-at-home mom. It wasn't a question, but a statement. I said we stay as busy as we want to and have a very active social life between the MOMS Club and preschool. It sounded lame as the words came out of my mouth and I didn't care, didn't bother to explain it is the best job in the world and everyone should be so lucky. She is someone who has always worked and always had to work, as far as I understand. I thought, maybe she is saying it with some envy, wondering what her life would have been like, what she would be like now, if she had been able to stay home with her child. Or maybe she was saying it with pity, with distaste, wondering how I can be wasting my life and my master's degree. I didn't press the subject.

I consider the joy of being a full-time mom to be a well-kept secret. I don't really want the world to know how amazing it is. Kind of like my life, I would like my job to stay under the radar. It is one of those things you can't understand until you experience it. And there are plenty of moms who do NOT enjoy staying home with their kids and don't understand how anyone could like it. There are days when I have wanted to go back to work just to get a break, but most days I am fully aware how good I have it. I really can't relate to someone who doesn't enjoy the job that gives me the greatest satisfaction I have ever had. It is a debate in which I don't want to engage.

Just a stay-at-home mom. I've been trying to come up with a parallel. Like saying oh, you're just the CEO of Microsoft. You're just the president of the United States. Okay, okay. I realize that isn't quite the same thing. But nonetheless I feel I have one of the most important jobs in the world. In some ways I am sorry that moms like me don't get the respect we deserve. But as I said, I consider it to be a well-kept secret. Let "them" think it's a mindless, thankless job. I know the truth, and that is all that matters.

Fear and Steel Magnolias

I have a ridiculous notion held on from childhood that if I don't speak about bad things, they won't happen. I am even too superstitious to write about some of them, though I have touched on a few fears here.

My solution to this is to pray. And pray and pray. I am beginning to feel a little bit like Annelle from Steel Magnolias, who took her faith a little too far, stopping to pray every other minute over something or other and raising the eyebrows of the other ladies. You have to have seen the movie. She got over it, was able to have faith in God and not be overly, what, prayerful? But I understand that feeling, that I can somehow protect my family and myself if I just pray hard enough. I guess it is better to pray too much than to live in fear. Sometimes I manage to do a little of both. I am a work in progress. A good friend lent me a book about faith and I am hoping it will help me to sort out some of my feelings. Perhaps someday I can write about that. I should be outside working but it is pouring rain, so maybe I should sit down with my book (and tune out Barney singing in the background).

Note: I really don't mind Barney, and I especially don't mind the little cutie who is clapping along. I truly am blessed.

Next will be the bomb shelter

I wrote before about how I have a hard time enjoying life when things are going well. A second facet of this is that when we have money in the bank I feel the need to stock up on things, JUST IN CASE. Part of this might be genetic. My aunt was great about buying things in bulk so she'd have them when she needed them. My grandparents took this to a whole other level. They had a whole garage filled with things JUST IN CASE. Now later on we found out this is a symptom of Alzheimer's, which my grandma developed. We didn't put the facts together at the time. But being prepared is not a bad thing. My aunt also was good about using coupons and sales to stock up, and I do that, too. She was such a good role model in so many ways. I should write about her another day. She was an amazing person.

Right now I am doing a lot of home improvement projects, rather than stocking up on stuff, because I want to make sure they get done while the funds are there. I have an urgency about it, even though there is no reason for me to be in such a rush. It is the what-ifs that make me want to get everything done NOW. Again, in the long run especially this is not a bad thing. But the amount of nervous energy I have is incredible.

Then I worry a teeny, tiny bit that what if this energy is actually mania. My sister has bipolar disorder and some components are genetic. Even though we don't know anyone else in the family who has it, I could be next. Logically I know that is unlikely. But it is still in the back of my mind.

Calgon, take me away!! The upside of the nervous energy is I am getting a lot done and I have very little appetite so I am not mindlessly snacking the day away. But the nervous energy will come to an end soon, I am sure. I just hope not until the garden projects are done. I need all the energy I can get for that!

This is happiness. When I saw this scene, it crystallized all that I have and I had to take a photo. It might not make sense to anyone else but to me it is lovely.

This is Your Life

I keep hearing that in my head. Is it from a tv show or movie? I can't remember.

Sometimes I sit in amazement when I realize this is it. All of my young life I wondered what it would be like to be married and have a family and now I am living it. It is not quite what I expected but for the most part is better than I imagined. My kids, while sometimes aggravating, are the most fascinating thing I have ever known. Just watching them, listening to them and interacting with them is so amazing. I am still in awe that they are mine, that I made them (with a little help from my husband and God, mind you). I suppose some people would be bored to tears by the endless household chores, the getting dressed and undressed, the many meals, the diapers. But I truly love it. When I am rocking my baby, I often think to myself, This is the best job I've ever had. And I know it is the best job I will ever have. Teaching other people's children is rewarding, certainly, and I do still hope to someday get paid to write. But there is no job I can think of as meaningful or enjoyable as being Mama. Being a wife is a close second, though. This is my life. How lucky.

Overwhelming gratitude

That is what I feel for the life I have. I feel thankful to have God to thank for this, if that makes sense. I sometimes wonder what people who don't believe in God do when they feel overwhelming gratitude. I think everyone who is a parent has felt this, feels this often. So who or what do non-believers thank when they are feeling grateful? Or am I strange that I feel the need to thank someone at all? I don't know the answer to either question, but to me it feels right to thank God for my blessings at the same time as I pray for others. My heart is full.

There's No Place Like Home, Part II

Several friends of mine have gotten bad news lately and I am feeling more than ever a sense of gratitude for the life I have. We were out and about this morning and I just wanted to get off the road and go somewhere I feel safe. And my first instinct is to hole up at home. The same home that makes me crazy on a daily basis due to its poor design is the place I feel safest. I know bad things can happen anywhere and that there isn't an invisible forcefield of safety surrounding us here. Yet it still seems safer than being out in the wide world. I am appreciating this house, this HOME, more and more lately. We are blessed.

Just like riding a bike

Being an adult makes it harder to appreciate some things. Like birthdays. I used to love birthdays because I got one of my favorite things--cake! And how nice to be showered with presents. But as an adult, I can buy or make cake anytime I want. And I can buy pretty much what I want whenever I want (within reason, not talking a new yacht here). Suddenly my birthday is not so magical. I guess the upside is that any day can be a party now. I don't have to wait months at a time.

Come to think of it, my own birthday wasn't always so fun growing up. Having a summer birthday meant it was hard to gather friends, who were often on vacation or otherwise unavailable. I used to be so jealous of the kids with birthdays during the school year. Oh to be able to bring in cupcakes and have the whole class sing to you! Not possible when you are born in July. So often birthdays were more lonely than anything.

When I think back on birthday presents, I have mixed emotions, at best. For my 5th birthday I wanted, and got!, a green plastic turtle wading pool. It had a slide down the back of the turtle's head into the pool. I think somewhere there are photos of my friend Sara and me in our sundresses, sliding into the empty pool during the party. That was the only time I ever got to use it. The pool blew out of our garage in a heavy wind and got cracked on the gravel driveway. To this day I don't know why my parents didn't replace it. It was 1981; it cost $10 at most. But they didn't, and I never got another pool.

One year, I think I was turning 10, all I wanted in the whole wide world was a Huffy 10-speed bike, the kind with the curved handlebars. It was pink and gray and I couldn't think of anything more cool. But my parents told me repeatedly it was too expensive, just not in the budget. So I got over it and wondered what I'd get instead. The morning of my birthday, I got up early and found the bike in our living room. Instead of being overjoyed, I felt sick. My parents said we couldn't afford it and got it for me anyway. (Maybe to make up for the turtle pool years before. Ha ha ha.) It took me a while to be able to enjoy that bicycle. I always felt like I never should have gotten it. Even thinking about it now, guilt is the first thing that comes to mind, not carefree summer days. I don't know if my parents were trying to throw me off track and that is why they said I couldn't have it or if they really had to sacrifice for me to get it. I did have some fun on it, riding on camping trips with friends. But when I think back on my first, and only, bicycle I mainly remember the morning I found it and how awful I felt.

Wow, I am just depressing myself. There has to have been one year that was memorable in a good way! I can recall memorable gifts but I think most were from Christmas. I am sure I got some Barbie or baby doll I really wanted and loved. This is really sad. I honestly can't remember a year that was really spectacular. Most were just fine, quiet. The one thing I am taking away from this otherwise depressing post is that I hope my two kids will have more good than bad memories. Even if they don't recall what meaningful gifts they received specific years, I hope their birthdays will blur together in a memory of family and friends and feeling loved. Overall, I know I mostly felt loved. That is all that really matters.

Beets

When I was a child I went everywhere I could with my dad. We went to lunch on Saturdays and to Radio Shack and to help out with HAM radio projects, a lot of HAM radio projects. My dad had many friends through his radio club and every year they'd have a potluck. I remember one potluck in the summer at a picnic area by a lake. There were the usual suspects on the buffet line--potato salad, baked beans, fruit, potato chips. And there were beets, not something a picky child would normally try. I remember my mom pointing out an older Ham whose hands were dyed bright burgundy. She quietly pointed out that he had grown the beets and prepared them himself, which is why his hands were red. I decided, or was encouraged, to try the beets to be polite because he had clearly put a lot of time and effort into making them. Lo and behold, I liked them. Pickled beets became one of my favorite salad bar toppings and very occasionally my mom would make fresh beets at home. But I never remember them tasting as good as at that picnic.

Last summer or the summer before I was overjoyed to find fresh beets at the Farmer's Market. But they shriveled up on my window sill before I had a chance to prepare them. I was sad and mad at myself for wasting them. I forgot about beets for a while until I saw them last weekend at the Market, sold by the same father and son who were selling them the last time. They were small, practically bite-sized, but I had to have them. I sent Jason over with money and he got the very last bunch.

This time I cooked them up before they shriveled up completely. I took the first tiny beet out of the cooking water and burned my hands as I peeled it. When I ate it tears came to my eyes. It tasted almost like I remembered, sweet and earthy. But more than that, it tasted like childhood. Like a time when life was uncomplicated and full of possibilities. When something as simple as an old man's red-stained hands could create a memory, a taste, a feeling I don't ever want to forget.

It could have been worse, Part II

When something is truly unfortunate, why can't I just be sad or angry about it for a while? Isn't it okay, healthy even, to mourn what I am losing and then move on? Instead my mind keeps repeating, at least I still have X. Yes, I am losing Y, but I should just be grateful to have X. Yet the fact is that I am losing Y. I will never get it back and it is not fair and it breaks my heart.

Why bother

I vacillate between trying to save the planet myself and thinking, why bother? For every trip to the grocery store that I walk, someone else is driving his anti-environmentalist SUV for errands near and far. Or I read people in China are lining up to buy cars for the first time to the tune of one million a DAY. Even if I recycle all I can here, the people next door might be dumping their motor oil in the yard and throwing away cans and bottles (shudder). I don't think there is enough concern globally--yet, anyway. And I know the efforts I make are barely a blip on the radar, especially when compared to the damage others are doing. Nonetheless I keep at it. I have tried to be lazy, toss plastic in the trash rather than wash it out and recycle it, for instance. But I can't. I feel too guilty. There is some saying like, If not us, who? If not now, when? I figure my solitary efforts now are better than no one, never.

There's No Place Like Home

I realized this after being away for just a short time, on the vacation that wasn't really a vacation. While this house is far from ideal, it is home and all that encompasses. I used to feel I had two homes, the one I grew up in and the one I live in. But the one I grew up in was sold to strangers several years ago, making the house I live in much more meaningful. I had the notion that it doesn't matter where we are as long as our family is together. But turns out it DOES matter where we are. There is something to be said for being surrounded by your own belongings, your own bed, your own space. Having the people I love (and the cat I love!) in our own house is about as good as it gets.

It could have been worse

Why is it that when something bad happens, rather than get upset or angry I start listing all the ways it could have been worse? Is this an optimistic coping mechanism? Or a way of avoiding being hit hard by the seriousness of the situation--denial?

My second reaction is to thank God it wasn't worse, for giving me a wake up call before something really bad happens. I think that should be my first response, my only response. Dwelling on what could have been doesn't do me any good. I know this, but my mind tends to go there anyway.

Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow...or the next day

I am wildly unmotivated. Every so often I get a burst of energy and start getting things in order. But mostly I'd rather do nothing more than sit. Or sleep. I don't know if this is due to my tiredness in general or if I am losing my neat freakiness. It concerns me a tiny bit, my utter apathy. But I think it concerns me more that it DOESN'T concern me. What happened to me? To my to-do lists and schedules? To my organized life? Children, of course. I'd much rather watch them than wash dishes. I can blame them (especially the charming little one) for my tiredness and lack of motivation. But they are also a convenient excuse not to dust. Further, I would much rather have a messy house and cute kids than a lonely clean house. Maybe someday I can have both the kids and the clean house. I'll put that on my to-do list. If I ever have the motivation to write one.

Looking for the tarnished lining

In my life before I was married with children, I needed to work harder at being happy. My mantra was "take great joy in small things." I prided myself (and still do) on noticing things other people might overlook--a tiny flower, a pretty sunset, an unspoken good deed. I loved reading funny anecdotes in Reader's Digest or watching comedies on tv. Anything to make me laugh. And I loved making other people laugh. I was a reasonably happy person. But I had to work at it. Not a bad thing, really, to perpetually be on the lookout for things to bring me joy, but sometimes wearing.

So I find it strange that now I look for things that make me unhappy. I don't really go around searching for negativity. But now that I truly AM happy, without having to work so hard for it, I am afraid of something taking my happiness away. I have a ridiculous belief that as long as there is something I am unhappy about, the things I am happy about (namely, my family) will stay safe. So when something upsets me (like this house, or our rude neighbors) I almost sigh in relief. When everything seems to be going well, instead of enjoying it I worry about what is lurking around the corner. As long as there is something aggravating, I can let myself feel happy. Crazy, I know.

I realize

As chaos surrounds me, as tragedy befalls both those I know and those I don't know, all I want is an unremarkable life. This life I have now, full of family and laughter and frustration and never-ending laundry and not enough hours in the day.

I used to wish for fame, to be a published novelist, to be on Oprah. But now I think that is asking too much. I would rather move along quietly, under the radar. Because what I already have is all I've ever really wanted. More than I wanted. More than enough.