keeping it real

© amy pang

Right now, my daughter is enjoying some solo time with the Disney Infinity video game. I'm upstairs, writing and winding down from work. I am trying not to feel guilty about not spending time with her. Because we had a quiet dinner together and did an errand earlier. That counts. And now we're being introverted and recharging.

One of the challenges about parenting is dealing with the mindset that you're supposed to be all-nurturing and all-knowing. You are expected to spend quality time, aka your free waking hours, with your spawn. How many articles have we read about the fallout when we don't read with them every day, when we don't have a family dinner every day, when we are not micromanaging everything from homework checklists to whether they're wearing the right socks for soccer?

Being a mindful parent can drive even the most zen-like of souls to fretful self-doubt. It is far, far easier to slack off. How many times can we tell kids to feed the cat, or throw away the snack wrapper, or remember what can be composted and what can be recycled, and not feel like a broken record? It's tedious. Exasperating. I don't like being a nag. I don't like being nagged. Does anyone?

And then when you need to mentally check out just to regroup, there's that sensation that you're neglecting them. You can't win.

I've been working on getting over my guilt. I'm a single parent; by necessity, I need to chill out regularly, or everything goes sideways. Both of these guys are old enough to be functional and independent without me hovering 24/7, and they are learning to make good decisions.

So, here's what we're doing. I keep an open door at all times, literally and figuratively. I may be upstairs and the kids are downstairs, but they know that they can come talk with me about anything and at any time. No question is too trivial, and certainly all questions get answers, even if it's a "seriously???" There are agreed-upon household guidelines that everyone follows, and there is freedom within that framework. Everyone in the household has a valid opinion; I don't believe in an authoritative structure that prevents children from sharing their thoughts honestly. I still am the final arbiter, of course - otherwise we'd be awash with too many video games and endless craft supplies - but decisions are made by consensus and compromise.

I'm hoping that my openness and acceptance will continue through their teenaged years, when the communication lines and our connection will be severely tested. I'll know very soon if my philosophy sticks.

work + parenting

I work full-time in a challenging job that by turns exhilarates and exhausts me. I am constantly terrified of screwing up. I have a deathly fear of failure, which I'm trying to get over because paralysis is not an option. 

And yes, I'm talking about both Career Job and parenting the minis.

Being a mother and working outside the home is tough. I have a compulsion to push myself, and it generally backfires on me. There are times when I feel that neither realms are getting the attention they need because I'm being pulled one way or the other. Eventually, everyone's annoyed, and I want to go fetal for a week.

The one lesson I'm learning is that I need to dial back and focus. Instead of doing 20 things, take 10 of those and do them very well. I can't get my act together to bake cookies from scratch with the minis, but I can read books until I'm hoarse. I'm not the most creative brainstormer, but I can ask people about their work and go deep with my understanding of that work. 

Now I need to get off my arse and do it.

trying not to overthink it

Z is in the playdate phase of the private school admissions process. My gut tells me that she's been doing well and that all we need to do now is sit back and wait until March to see what the results are. My brain, however, enjoys tormenting me with thoughts like "this is a waste of time", "we have no chance" and "she will be miserable here and tell you daily as you're bleeding money for the tuition and extras".

My gut tells me that the decision will be obvious and easy; the right school will be made beautifully clear to us. Clarity of the path has been a hallmark of the major decisions that I've made. But try telling my mind that.

important now

[psst...the pic on the left will make sense if you read the last paragraph in this post first]

This fall I've been consumed with the whole process of finding a school for Z and O. They're spending the next, oh, six or even nine years there, so it behooves us to pick a solid one.

The public schools that we've toured are pretty darn swell. We looked at one top SF public and came away underwhelmed. It's not to say it didn't deserve its good rep, but in comparison with others we've seen, it was comparable to a host of other district schools. We have one that is our top choice - we plan on eventually moving to that neighborhood, the principal is down to earth and straightforward, the parents who led the tour we were on were also down to earth, and the kids looked like they were having a good time. So we'll turn in our app with seven choices and try to forget about the process until late March when the results roll in.

We've toured four private schools as well. They also have their strengths, and, to be honest, they will be a better fit for the kiddos in the long run. However, the admissions process is competitive, based on a number of factors including parent interviews and screening of the kids. It's more personal and, as a result, generates many feelings of insecurity and inadequacy, at least on my part. We'll do our best to provide thoughtful answers to the essay questions, be ourselves at the interviews and tours, and submit our apps, then wait for the March letters.

All in, we're applying to 11 schools - 11 schools that'll work for our family. It's an incredibly stressful experience; even though we've done our research and due diligence, what if we're completely wrong? Part of the whole torment of parenting is that feeling that somehow you're going to screw things up no matter what your good intentions are.

***

I took Z to a family open house at one of the private schools. It was two hours; I fully expected to stay a hour tops. But Z had a ball. We hung out in the kindergarten classroom for a good hour, took a snack break, then headed up to the library. We didn't even hit the art room (I'm starting to suspect that she, like me, likes to create in solitude) and revisited the kindergarten classroom to close the day. I rarely get to see her in action in this kind of setting, and I have to say it was pretty neat to see her pretend play with these old school Fisher Price Little People toys. We're talking the ones from the '70s, like this a-frame house that I had when I was not that much older than her. Now I kind of want to find one just to have. I know, good luck with that, right?

happy birthday, little man.

happy birthday, little man.,
originally uploaded by urban mama.

I’m gonna tell my son to grow up pretty as the grass is green
And whip-smart as the English Channel’s wide...
Liz Phair, “Whip-Smart”

Mr. Guy,

I cried when the nurses put you on my chest for the first time. Maybe it was because I wasn’t expecting you for another two weeks. Maybe it was because your sister - all 21 months of her - was present for your birth since the sitter came down with strep and was sitting in an emergency room waiting for treatment. And maybe it was because it was the start of an incredibly complex relationship between me and you, mother and son. You were born when a show called “The Sopranos” was big and that deals with the ramifications of a twisted mother/son relationship, among other things. You’re not allowed to watch it until you’re at least 18, by the way. I don't need you going all AJ on me.

I promise you that I will never hold you back from what you want to do, unless I sense that what you’re about to do has nothing to do with what you feel in your heart but more about what other people are telling you to do. I had a friend once whose mother was slowly dying of cancer. He wanted to move across the country to live out a dream but didn’t want to leave her. She made him go, saying that it would be selfish of her to keep him tethered when he had an entire life to life. That’s how I feel about you and your sister. You have grand opportunities waiting to be seized. Don’t hold back.

For now, as you turn the Important Age of Two, I will delight in your open mouthed kisses, your tackle hugs, your fake whiny cry which sounds a little like a broken ambulance siren, your anger at being thwarted from causing yourself real bodily harm, your willingness to try anything on my plate - even the garnish, your persistence and patient determination in opening doors you’re not supposed to open, and your mischevious, grabbing life by the balls, joyful disposition. In the words of Marge Simpson, you’re my special little guy. And yes, you can watch “The Simpsons” before you’re 18. It’ll probably still be running.

eq

Z is now getting into the habit of saying "I love you" at spontaneous moments. I thoroughly encourage this. When she gets to be of a certain age, the ability to say "I love you" without reservation to the love[s] of her life will be crucial.

I didn't grow up in an emotionally open household; to this day I repress a lot of things that I shouldn't. It's plain unhealthy. This is one thing that I don't want to bequeath to my children. The repression, I think, keeps me from being completely emotionally involved in relationships. True intimacy is very scary. When I've tried to be more open with my feelings, I've been shot down, ridiculed, dismissed. And that makes me even more angry and withdrawn and disinclined to be deeply and truly involved.

But what I can do is not let this manifest in my kids. I've horrified myself by hearing the words "That's not a big deal, stop crying" come out of my mouth. Why not just say, "Whatever you're feeling is unimportant"? Same effect, no? I freely admit it's an ass pain to be endlessly patient, infinitely understanding, but I see in Z now that approaching problems with logic and compassion goes much further than saying "Because I said so." She's a fabulous little girl and goddamnit, I'm not going to hinder her emotional development in any way.

I don't let a day go by without saying "I love you" to each of them. Maybe I overcompensate by kissing and hugging them all too much. But I've never know a kid their ages to turn down a kiss and a hug. Somehow, I'm doing something right.

the happy prince

I've had a couple of days this past week with some heavy-duty mama and son time. I don't spend nearly as much time with O as I should because Z lays first claim to my free time constantly.

On one of the days, he had some 24-hour stomach bug that caused copious vomiting, and we spent the day at home recuperating. He wasn't that sick; he demanded a wagon ride around the block and enjoyed the sprinkler action on various lawns. I put him down for his nap and held his hand until he was nearly out. It's a special move that we have.

We had grandparents in town this weekend, and it was a whirlwind of food and activity. On Sunday, D-Money took Z down to Oak Park, where they were staying, so O and I trekked to the supermarket to get a few things. I broke one of my self-imposed cardinal rules and opened a bag of goldfish crackers so he could munch while we shopped. But he thoroughly enjoyed himself and was fascinated by the piles and stacks of seemingly endless food. Not once did he try to escape the cart - a new milestone.

The one thing I'm working on right now is weaning him from the milk bottle. He's ready. It's a bit of a wrench - though not as much as stopping breastfeeding - but he's been able to fall asleep without needing the bottle for the past several days. It's time.

So now I'm without a baby in the house. After three years, it's an odd feeling. Sad, but liberating. No more dragging of huge tote bags filled with baby paraphenalia - back to normal-sized, cute handbags for mom. No more double stroller - both kids demand to walk or run amok. No more special baby food - O will eat everything from gnocchi to lobster.

Back to my happy prince - he's a good egg. A destructive, highly energetic, mischievous, charming egg, but a good one.

I'm getting good at this camera phone stuff.

mama and daughter ready for close-up,
originally uploaded by urban mama.

Today was a washout of a day in terms of social activities, so Zee and I walked down to the DQ for some icy cold goodness. I started messing around with the camera phone and took this groovy shot. I'm damn proud of myself. I wish I could've gotten more of her face, and less of mine, but still, not bad!

The DQ cone I got her was about as big as her head. It was allegedly a "small". Ha.

calling child services

We had a big Memorial Day bash at the house today that was designed to capture everyone who didn't already have plans.

Children ranged from non-walking babies to strapping preschoolers. Nearly full nudity abounded. Mud and water play was rampant. Curious sipping of alcoholic beverages by toddler was witnessed, as was sidewalk chalk chomping. Many a child was passed out as the day drew to an end. Someone had scrawled a big "Thank You" with baby-drool covered chalk on the concrete walk. The grass was littered with food that even the rogue squirrels terrorizing the 'hood won't touch.

So all in all...success!

what lives in the grass

Yesterday’s commuting conversation between me and the three year old:

Zee: Mommy, do you know what lives in grass?

Me: Hmmmm…worms? Worms live in grass?

Zee: No. Flowers!

Me: Right, flowers. Flowers live in grass. You’re absolutely right.

[Pause]

Zee: Doggie poo poo lives in grass, too.

My Generation X has been searching for ways to differentiate itself in the parenting arena. You have your hipsters, queen bees and wannabees, the new radical stay-at-home movement for both dads and moms, the "why can't we be it all" post punk/goth baby disco contingent and a whole host of ways to differentiate oneself from the "typical" parent of the boomer and previous generations. We fight against overscheduling kids, jockeying for the one spot at the coveted school while pitching in to make the urban public school system work and eschew crass commercialism.

I've seen posts on not allowing kids to listen to crap pop music and banning branded merchandise. There are onesies emblazoned with snide witticisms and political stances. Any trendy piece of adult clothing can be had in mini. I am guilty in putting Zee in the Gap's "skinny jeans". Well, folks, they were on sale, and she's skinny - part of the 10th percentile club, dontcha know.

At the end of the day, are we any different? Does our dogmatic hipster, or what have you, attitude make us any better than the far right or overambitious parents who were molded in the '80s?

Even more so than the boomers, we want to maintain our individuality. In the end, we're all the same - hopessly in love with our spawn and wanting nothing but the best experience for them.

Mr. O's no longer the big cheese.

Mr. O has graduated from the infant to toddler room at daycare. Shocking news for him - he's no longer the big dude, and there are GIRLS in his room. His infant room was a bastion of testosterone for a year. Yet he learned how to blow kisses. He was a little put out by the transistion at first, but perks such as getting his own little chair and eating Cheerios with a spoon have won him over.

In related news, Zee was holding hands with one of the young men in her classroom, and they were running around and laughing maniacally when I went to pick her up. They were partners in a Go Fish tournament, and they must've done well. Her father is not pleased.