I'm not going to lie...I thought it would be a cinch. After all, historically speaking, LO has reached all of the milestones early and easily. Crawling - check. Walking - check. Talking - check. Potty training - no DICE.
The first day that I sat her on the toilet, she delivered - #1 and #2, nonetheless. I was ecstatic. Why did I read any books? Why did I over think the strategy? In her nonchalant way, she just did it. Visions of Dora underwear and diaper bag-free outings danced in my head. Wait, I didn't even make a big deal when I changed her last diaper. I didn't have a chance to really appreciate the last pooped diaper. Much like the last time I nursed her. I didn't know it was going to be the last. I decided at 15 months that I should start the weaning process. My strategy was to not offer but not to deny. I never had to deny her...she never asked. And just like that, my boobs were mine once again. Ungratefully returned to me in a very saggy, sad state. Thanks LO.
Except PT has not been anything like our nursing finale. She is severely stalling. Actually it has come to a complete halt. She did it that once and has kept me anxiously awaiting another delivery. That was a month ago.
The real kicker is that she completely understands the entire process. She has become quite the potty expert. Her favorite movie du jour is "Potty Power" (an ultra cheesy video made in the 80's that I checked out of the library...she's going to be devastated when I return it). Assuredly she chants the mantra "No more diapers for me" and marches around the room screaming "I'm proud to wear my underwear!"
Yet she has no interest in giving up her diapers and wearing underwear. She is perfectly content to wake from her nap, yelling "Mama, poo poo. I have poo poo." So what the Hades is going on?!?! It would be easier to accept if she didn't show any interest or if she didn't comprehend it.
She even cheers P on when she walks in on him peeing. She'll cheer "GO PAPA', GO PAPA'" and then claps and hollers "YAY" when he's done. She's literally cheering from the sidelines.
Mama is counting down the days before she decides to step it up and get on the field! Meanwhile I have the diaper bag fully stocked.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
L-O-V-E
He grew on me. Little by little, day by day, until he became ingrained in me. I can't pinpoint the exact moment or even the month when it happened, but around 12 years ago, I knew. I had a partner. Forever.
I had only just turned 21 when we got engaged. I was still a kid. Bright-eyed and anxious to begin "really" living. I craved adventure, independence and purpose. It's quite paradoxical that I would want to enter into a lifelong commitment - in the Catholic Church nonetheless - where they make it essentially impossible to reverse the deal. But it made perfect sense to me.
We drove out west to Cali in a half-empty UHAUL, with nothing but $1000 in the bank (mostly from wedding gifts) and an amazingly generous uncle with a spare bedroom. There we were: newlyweds, on bunk beds, snuggling on the full-size bed on the bottom while using the top bunk for storage.
Fast-forward 5 years and we're headed back on I-10 East in an overflowing UHAUL with contents ranging from a baby crib to a foosball table. We're far from being settled but that's how we've liked it so far. I'm not sure I ever want to be settled. It makes me anxious. See, I have many commitment phobias: to cities, to jobs, even to a particular cocktail. Sometimes it's a simple scotch and soda and at others a fancy French 75. It depends on the mood, the lighting, the weather. I have often wished I could be that girl with a signature look - like Gwen Stefani with that red lipstick or Katherine Hepburn with those killer pantsuits. I'm much too fickle for any of that.
Yet I never once had an inkling of a doubt to commit to P. Why? Was it a cosmic connection? My soulmate? Destiny? The romantic, Jane Austen-loving fool in me would like to think so. What I must have always known was that a life with P meant a life of freedom. Because when you're loved so honestly by another you cannot help but feel free to love yourself. The good, the bad, the neurotic, the emotional human being that is me - I feel free to be me!
I know we do a lot of stupid things when we are young but marrying P was the smartest thing I ever did.
I had only just turned 21 when we got engaged. I was still a kid. Bright-eyed and anxious to begin "really" living. I craved adventure, independence and purpose. It's quite paradoxical that I would want to enter into a lifelong commitment - in the Catholic Church nonetheless - where they make it essentially impossible to reverse the deal. But it made perfect sense to me.
We drove out west to Cali in a half-empty UHAUL, with nothing but $1000 in the bank (mostly from wedding gifts) and an amazingly generous uncle with a spare bedroom. There we were: newlyweds, on bunk beds, snuggling on the full-size bed on the bottom while using the top bunk for storage.
Fast-forward 5 years and we're headed back on I-10 East in an overflowing UHAUL with contents ranging from a baby crib to a foosball table. We're far from being settled but that's how we've liked it so far. I'm not sure I ever want to be settled. It makes me anxious. See, I have many commitment phobias: to cities, to jobs, even to a particular cocktail. Sometimes it's a simple scotch and soda and at others a fancy French 75. It depends on the mood, the lighting, the weather. I have often wished I could be that girl with a signature look - like Gwen Stefani with that red lipstick or Katherine Hepburn with those killer pantsuits. I'm much too fickle for any of that.
Yet I never once had an inkling of a doubt to commit to P. Why? Was it a cosmic connection? My soulmate? Destiny? The romantic, Jane Austen-loving fool in me would like to think so. What I must have always known was that a life with P meant a life of freedom. Because when you're loved so honestly by another you cannot help but feel free to love yourself. The good, the bad, the neurotic, the emotional human being that is me - I feel free to be me!
I know we do a lot of stupid things when we are young but marrying P was the smartest thing I ever did.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Give + Take
"Making a decision to have a child - it's momentous.
It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body"
Elizabeth Stone, author.
I read this somewhere and it has stuck with me. It describes motherhood exactly, precisely - does it not? Tiny tears form in my eyes as I write this. I attempt to conceal them for fear of being discovered. Fear of those around me catching on that I am in LOVE. Crazily, intoxicatingly IN LOVE with my LO.
While lazily sipping my latte, as I often do while LO is at school, the quote came to mind. Is it even possible to be so overcome with love? To be so full that it feels as though your heart will just burst out of your chest and begin walking about in the shape of a majestic, little brown-eyed creature. There are times when just the thought of my LO makes me feel giddy, mushy, beaming with pure euphoric joy. And I realize I have the goofiest grin on my face.
Is it this exact feeling that accounts for women since the beginning of time, enduring the many physical discomforts (sore nipples are no joke, people) and down-right hideous pain of labor? In those last contractions before LO entered the world, I thought I would soon be exiting it. I thought I couldn't endure anymore and that I would literally die from labor pains, not from complications but from the actual gut-wrenching contractions. Why would I do this to myself (with P's help, of course)?!!?
But I didn't die and the instant I curled my arms around her tiny, slimy body, I had my answer.
It's so inexplicable that a little thing that takes and takes and needs so much ends up giving you so much in return. I knew that now as a mother it was my turn to put my child first, as my mother always did for me. I was prepared to enter into a very non-symbiotic relationship. I would be the "GIVER" and LO would be the "TAKER." That was my expectation and I was ready.
What I wasn't expecting was to feel so grateful to her for giving me...I don't know...what does she give me exactly? I take care of her every need which in a day can add up to many, many dirty bowls and corresponding diapers. It is a demanding job, this parenting business. Which is why it takes me exactly 20 seconds to fall asleep once my head hits the pillow. She certainly does not make my life easier (just putting on my makeup in the morning required me to purchase her own "makeup kit" to end the struggle), she does not compliment my many virtues (ha!), she does not even laugh at my silly jokes. Sounds like a terrible boyfriend! So I guess in the traditional sense of relationships, she does not give me much. It might even be termed "unhealthly" or "one-way" or whatever other terms people use to identify a severely disproportional relationship.
Yet I have never felt so fulfilled. So full of purpose and enthusiasm. So light. So loving. So confident in my place in this crazy world.
All that she's given me. So who's the "TAKER" now?
Is it this exact feeling that accounts for women since the beginning of time, enduring the many physical discomforts (sore nipples are no joke, people) and down-right hideous pain of labor? In those last contractions before LO entered the world, I thought I would soon be exiting it. I thought I couldn't endure anymore and that I would literally die from labor pains, not from complications but from the actual gut-wrenching contractions. Why would I do this to myself (with P's help, of course)?!!?
But I didn't die and the instant I curled my arms around her tiny, slimy body, I had my answer.
It's so inexplicable that a little thing that takes and takes and needs so much ends up giving you so much in return. I knew that now as a mother it was my turn to put my child first, as my mother always did for me. I was prepared to enter into a very non-symbiotic relationship. I would be the "GIVER" and LO would be the "TAKER." That was my expectation and I was ready.
What I wasn't expecting was to feel so grateful to her for giving me...I don't know...what does she give me exactly? I take care of her every need which in a day can add up to many, many dirty bowls and corresponding diapers. It is a demanding job, this parenting business. Which is why it takes me exactly 20 seconds to fall asleep once my head hits the pillow. She certainly does not make my life easier (just putting on my makeup in the morning required me to purchase her own "makeup kit" to end the struggle), she does not compliment my many virtues (ha!), she does not even laugh at my silly jokes. Sounds like a terrible boyfriend! So I guess in the traditional sense of relationships, she does not give me much. It might even be termed "unhealthly" or "one-way" or whatever other terms people use to identify a severely disproportional relationship.
Yet I have never felt so fulfilled. So full of purpose and enthusiasm. So light. So loving. So confident in my place in this crazy world.
All that she's given me. So who's the "TAKER" now?
Monday, November 7, 2011
Terribly Terrific Twos
It seems that from the moment you announce your pregnancy you are bombarded with cautionary tales about the most dreaded stage of childhood: The Terrible Twos. Now isn't the point of a cautionary tale to forewarn you so can avoid the catastrophe? Here's the catch - there is NO escaping the Terrible Twos. If your child reaches the landmark age of two, you will basically be living with a bipolar, irrational, emotionally unstable (sounds like Lindsay Lohan) little tyrant until..._____?? Can other parents fill in the blank? Please say it ends soon. Feel free to lie.
LO becomes possessed with The Terrible Twos sporadically. She can have one wonderful episode-free day followed by the exact opposite. I have long ago accepted that LO will misbehave...and often. That she will test every limit and push every boundary. It's in her precocious nature. But these Terrible Twos look very different from her usual mischief.
She's weepy. She's overly sensitive. She grins and immediately frowns. It's like living with Sybil...which LO am I going to get?? My fun-loving, goofy girl or LO the Lunatic? I know it sounds harsh but it really IS harsh. It's hard to witness. Especially if you're new to the game as I am.
I hug her tight and reassure her that she will someday cope better with all these emotions. Sometimes she accepts the hug and other times she stomps away in a fury. It's difficult to accept that I can't "fix" it. When LO was a restless newborn, P and I bounced her on a huge exercise ball for hours on end to soothe her. When she was crawling and her knees would get scraped up, I discovered baby leg warmers. When she began interacting with other kids and a toy was yanked from her, I would distract her with another toy. I cannot distract her from this. It's an insult to her intelligence. It is very real and she's needs to go through it. I'm just on the sidelines with open arms. Alas, I try to remind myself that I've never heard the term "Terrible Threes."
At her two-year check up, her pediatrician asked about her general health and development. Thankfully, all is great on that front. When I mentioned her new emotional state and the accompanying "symptoms," he chuckled and shrugged. "That's all perfectly normal," he said. He went on to explain that the toddler and adolescent stages are the most emotionally tumultuous times in one's life. Then I remembered my high school days and suddenly sympathized with LO. That is a rough time. Poor thing.
I'll be here now and when she's an awkward pre-teen with braces (she'll definitely be awkward and need braces if she's at all like me). To hug her or to get the door slammed in my face. Either way, I'll be right there.
LO becomes possessed with The Terrible Twos sporadically. She can have one wonderful episode-free day followed by the exact opposite. I have long ago accepted that LO will misbehave...and often. That she will test every limit and push every boundary. It's in her precocious nature. But these Terrible Twos look very different from her usual mischief.
She's weepy. She's overly sensitive. She grins and immediately frowns. It's like living with Sybil...which LO am I going to get?? My fun-loving, goofy girl or LO the Lunatic? I know it sounds harsh but it really IS harsh. It's hard to witness. Especially if you're new to the game as I am.
I hug her tight and reassure her that she will someday cope better with all these emotions. Sometimes she accepts the hug and other times she stomps away in a fury. It's difficult to accept that I can't "fix" it. When LO was a restless newborn, P and I bounced her on a huge exercise ball for hours on end to soothe her. When she was crawling and her knees would get scraped up, I discovered baby leg warmers. When she began interacting with other kids and a toy was yanked from her, I would distract her with another toy. I cannot distract her from this. It's an insult to her intelligence. It is very real and she's needs to go through it. I'm just on the sidelines with open arms. Alas, I try to remind myself that I've never heard the term "Terrible Threes."
At her two-year check up, her pediatrician asked about her general health and development. Thankfully, all is great on that front. When I mentioned her new emotional state and the accompanying "symptoms," he chuckled and shrugged. "That's all perfectly normal," he said. He went on to explain that the toddler and adolescent stages are the most emotionally tumultuous times in one's life. Then I remembered my high school days and suddenly sympathized with LO. That is a rough time. Poor thing.
I'll be here now and when she's an awkward pre-teen with braces (she'll definitely be awkward and need braces if she's at all like me). To hug her or to get the door slammed in my face. Either way, I'll be right there.
 |
| Still rocking the leg warmers. |
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Concierge
Lately I find myself contemplating my next career move. Where does one go from being on a set for 14 hours a day, fanning down a sweaty, tomato-faced stunt man after he just flew out of a window in full armor? What job will fulfill my need for adventure and my addiction to being around eccentric, dramatic people?
LO is certainly eccentric (running around the house with her diaper on her head) and she has all my Hollywood peeps beat in the dramatic department. She flings herself on the floor, instant tears spilling down her face, after a raisin falls out of her hand. Everything is so tragic at our household these days.
Oh no, the episode of Yo Gabba Gabba finished: "WHAAA!" No you can't have another packet of fruit snacks: "WHAAA!!!." Let's comb your hair: "WHAAA!!! And yesterday I had the audacity of cheerfully saying "Good morning, my angel face" to which she threw herself in the crib and wailed "WHAAAA!" It's going to be a long day, I thought.
And it was.
But nobody is paying me to do this job. In fact, I'M paying a pre-school to get a break for a few hours.
So I need to find something that will have a financial benefit - not a liability - as a financial magazine once harshly but honestly defined children. They are expensive little creatures.
And then it hit me: I need to be a concierge. Basically, that is my job description now. I meet the requests or more precisely - the demands - of a very discerning and difficult "guest". And I usually deliver on most with poise and grace (ok, that may be a stretch but I get the job done).
For instance, as I was pulling out of our apartment and onto our street (which happens to be the feeder road of a busy freeway) LO screeches "GASSES, GASSES, peeze." At least I got a please. And no, the request has nothing to do with a bodily function. Luckily we are not at that gross stage yet or maybe we'll miss that altogether because she's girl? Anyhow, she's asking for her sunglasses. On our drive home from the hospital, little newborn LO squinted her eyes annoyingly at the sun in her face. I proudly exclaimed to P that she's just like me! She's definitely mine because she hated the sun in her eyes. Two years later, she's still the same. If the sun hits directly in her eyes, she'll scream in horror "Light, light" and cover her eyes with her hands.
So as I try to avoid a collision with a zooming car, I reach in the backseat pocket to get her Dora glasses. What's next? A few moments later "Fiwawoak, Fiwawoak." She's asking for her jam of the moment, Katy Perry's "Firework." I put on the CD that P burned with all her favorites. Check.
"AGUA, AGUA!" echoes from the backseat. "How do you ask?," I retort. "Agua, Agua, PEEZE." I reach into the fully stocked diaper bag beside me and hand her the sippy cup. She takes a swig.
"SNACK, SNACK!" "No snacks until we get to the park," I say. "SNACK, peeze," she beckons.
"Nice words, LO, but you may not have a snack until the park," I answer. Silence. She got it.
"SNACK, Mama, PEEEZE." Maybe not. When the explanation tactic doesn't work, I move onto the distraction tactic. I reach in the car toy bag and pull out a book. "Would you like a book?" She gives me an enthusiastic "YEAH."
And we're barely at the first stop light on our journey to the park. It's going to be a long ride.
Bring it!
Monday, October 17, 2011
Grump
I wrote this a few weeks ago and did not open this blog since. We have been so busy. Visitors were in town for P's birthday and we just returned from celebrating LO's 2nd birthday in our hometown (more to come about that).
I was unsure if I would share this, but as I re-read it now, I think that I will. Because my Grandpa was bold, he inspires me to act a little more boldly too. Please excuse the sloppy writing. I haven't done any editing to this.
I miss you. I didn't even realize how much until tonight. Everything is quiet and as I got ready for bed, your beaming smile flashed into my mind and I can't escape the pain. Nor do I want to. I want to feel it because I want to never forget you. Grandpa or Grump, as I lovingly called you, I sob tonight for the past year we all have lived without you. I understood that it was your time to go. I mourned your death as I celebrated your very well-lived life. I knew that it would be okay to not see you anymore, because frankly, in the end you weren't the man that I knew. The disease erased you in the present. You were no longer my Grump. At the end you became only the shell of the person you were. It was as if the core of you had left before your body followed suit.
I was unsure if I would share this, but as I re-read it now, I think that I will. Because my Grandpa was bold, he inspires me to act a little more boldly too. Please excuse the sloppy writing. I haven't done any editing to this.
I miss you. I didn't even realize how much until tonight. Everything is quiet and as I got ready for bed, your beaming smile flashed into my mind and I can't escape the pain. Nor do I want to. I want to feel it because I want to never forget you. Grandpa or Grump, as I lovingly called you, I sob tonight for the past year we all have lived without you. I understood that it was your time to go. I mourned your death as I celebrated your very well-lived life. I knew that it would be okay to not see you anymore, because frankly, in the end you weren't the man that I knew. The disease erased you in the present. You were no longer my Grump. At the end you became only the shell of the person you were. It was as if the core of you had left before your body followed suit.
LO will never know you the way I did. And for that reason I sob tonight. I wish she had the same privilege that I had to know you. The experience of eating ice cream out of a tub with you, of eating your bacon waffles (morsels of crunchy bacon mixed in the batter), of playing canasta with you as you hid cards in your suit sleeve or of walking on your back barefoot for the promise of a Dairy Queen Blizzard. You are woven in the fabric of my childhood. You were always there. To pick me up from school so that I wouldn't be humilaited to walk the five blocks home in high school (so silly, I know). To talk to me about the night you met Grandma at that dance club in Manhattan Beach and your friend pursued her first while you smoothly waited to make your move. Or to share the pain you felt when your father disowned you for joining the Army during World War 2. You were a first generation American with parents from Mexico and yet you felt as American as any other citizen. You loved this country. Almost as much as you loved your family. You were a strong man, stubborn until the end. Frank Sinatra's "My Way" describes your point-of-view perfectly. You came from East LA, selling newspapers, you really had no business getting a scholarship to the most prestigious mining engineering school. I love the picture of your college graduation with Grandma and your four young kids (another 3 would follow). You were so handsome - with a touch of over-confidence that I wish I had inherited.
I love you Grump and I miss you. Still. You would get a kick out of my daughter. She has the same zest for life that runs through my veins and I'm pretty sure comes from you. She's funny, wicked sharp and as you would say "a character." I know you would love her like you loved me, unconditionally. You made me feel special. I just wish you could make her feel that way too. Because it meant very much.
As I wipe these tears from my face, I am not quite sure why tonight was the night I mourned you again. It's an ordinary night, nothing triggered this downpour of memories and emotions. Maybe you came to visit me tonight. I feel your presence as I write this and somehow I just know that you were never really gone and that you won't ever really leave us. You are here, you live on in your wife - my beautiful Grandma - your seven children, 14 grandchildren, 11 great-grandchildren. I think it is most fitting that your next great grandchild will be born on your birthday. On October 3rd, Alessia will enter this world and share your birthday forever.
You really did do it your way, Grump!
Monday, September 19, 2011
Family Planning
I have baby on the brain lately. And by baby I do not mean LO, for LO is no longer a baby. She's a walking-talking-blooming little person.
I am talking about a "wahhh" baby. A nursing every-two-hours kind of baby, with wrinkly toes and chubby cheeks. LO had the yummiest cheeks as a baby. She has stretched out and lost the baby cheeks. Although she's still very yummy.
I think I want one - a baby. The fever is building. P and I had severe baby fever for over two years before we decided to go for LO. We would stare and ogle at toddlers at the park or grocery store. We were tot stalkers, in a non-criminal sort of way. Having LO was an emotional decision, not a practical one. We never discussed my biological clock, finances or any other valid point. Our hearts made the decision, not our brain. We thought we would have some time to deal with the practical factors but fate gave us LO right off the bat. First try. What a blessing! We cried mostly out of excitement and partly out of fear. Is this really happening so fast? Nine months is all we had to sort out the details. But as far as our hearts were concerned, this baby was long overdue.
When LO was one month, my friend asked if we had given any thought to when we want the next baby. What? But I have a brand new baby now. And I barely know what I'm doing with this one. She had some good arguments for getting on it again. The two would be close in age, buddies for life. And although it would be a hard few years, then we'd be done. True. But I didn't want to be "done" with anything. I wanted to give all of myself to this one baby. And I didn't think I could do that while growing another one. I wanted to fully experience the love, the fear, the euphoria, the frustration of this new relationship. I am sure other women can handle both beautifully, but I knew I could not and did not want to. So the idea of having babies one year apart was buried.
Then when LO was getting close to her first birthday, I revisited the idea. I did not feel the need for another baby yet. LO was still a baby in many ways - still nursing (not every two hours though!) and barely asserting some independence through crawling. But maybe we should try for baby # 2 now so the girls (I'm convinced another girl is in our future) will only be two years apart. We can stay in our home town, where we had moved to from LA a few months prior, while I cooked the baby and have some family support during the arduous newborn stage. But then our plan of starting anew in Austin would be postponed even further. Plus, P was between jobs and my career was on hold. We had too many loose ends to add another baby to the mix. I shelved the baby idea again.
Now that we are semi-settled in Austin, I'm back to this baby issue. I get overwhelmed at the magnitude of this decision. The first time around it was more simple. The desire grew and grew until there was no other option than to take the leap. This time I am much more analytical. Is it because I know what is in store? I am now aware of the intensity and the commitment because I have lived it. It's like an out of body experience and I am barely, very slowly, coming back. I'm getting back to my own personal aspirations. Can I let that go already? Or would I be better at juggling the next time around?
I often wish I were one of those people who had a stringent life plan. A game plan, set in stone, so that you can refer to it when you are very confused (as I often am). I follow a blurry outline for the future, full of beauty but just a bit out of focus, like a Monet landscape. I have a general direction I'd like to go in but the details are often murky.
For instance, my biggest dream in college was to spend a semester in Italy. Walking around the Florentine cobblestone streets and drinking cappuccino while contemplating the meaning of life was my vision. I was so blown away by the fact that I was going to ITALY (I just must be part Italian), that I never thought about all the traveling I could do while I was there. It was the foam on my cappuccino, so to speak, to also explore Spain, France, and England. Now when I think back on that semester, Barcelona - with its mesmerizing architecture and vibrant streets - is as memorable and meaningful as Florence is to me.
When I got pregnant, I didn't think beyond LO. She was everything. Maybe Baby #2 is my Barcelona. But the question still remains: When?
I am talking about a "wahhh" baby. A nursing every-two-hours kind of baby, with wrinkly toes and chubby cheeks. LO had the yummiest cheeks as a baby. She has stretched out and lost the baby cheeks. Although she's still very yummy.
I think I want one - a baby. The fever is building. P and I had severe baby fever for over two years before we decided to go for LO. We would stare and ogle at toddlers at the park or grocery store. We were tot stalkers, in a non-criminal sort of way. Having LO was an emotional decision, not a practical one. We never discussed my biological clock, finances or any other valid point. Our hearts made the decision, not our brain. We thought we would have some time to deal with the practical factors but fate gave us LO right off the bat. First try. What a blessing! We cried mostly out of excitement and partly out of fear. Is this really happening so fast? Nine months is all we had to sort out the details. But as far as our hearts were concerned, this baby was long overdue.
When LO was one month, my friend asked if we had given any thought to when we want the next baby. What? But I have a brand new baby now. And I barely know what I'm doing with this one. She had some good arguments for getting on it again. The two would be close in age, buddies for life. And although it would be a hard few years, then we'd be done. True. But I didn't want to be "done" with anything. I wanted to give all of myself to this one baby. And I didn't think I could do that while growing another one. I wanted to fully experience the love, the fear, the euphoria, the frustration of this new relationship. I am sure other women can handle both beautifully, but I knew I could not and did not want to. So the idea of having babies one year apart was buried.
Then when LO was getting close to her first birthday, I revisited the idea. I did not feel the need for another baby yet. LO was still a baby in many ways - still nursing (not every two hours though!) and barely asserting some independence through crawling. But maybe we should try for baby # 2 now so the girls (I'm convinced another girl is in our future) will only be two years apart. We can stay in our home town, where we had moved to from LA a few months prior, while I cooked the baby and have some family support during the arduous newborn stage. But then our plan of starting anew in Austin would be postponed even further. Plus, P was between jobs and my career was on hold. We had too many loose ends to add another baby to the mix. I shelved the baby idea again.
Now that we are semi-settled in Austin, I'm back to this baby issue. I get overwhelmed at the magnitude of this decision. The first time around it was more simple. The desire grew and grew until there was no other option than to take the leap. This time I am much more analytical. Is it because I know what is in store? I am now aware of the intensity and the commitment because I have lived it. It's like an out of body experience and I am barely, very slowly, coming back. I'm getting back to my own personal aspirations. Can I let that go already? Or would I be better at juggling the next time around?
I often wish I were one of those people who had a stringent life plan. A game plan, set in stone, so that you can refer to it when you are very confused (as I often am). I follow a blurry outline for the future, full of beauty but just a bit out of focus, like a Monet landscape. I have a general direction I'd like to go in but the details are often murky.
For instance, my biggest dream in college was to spend a semester in Italy. Walking around the Florentine cobblestone streets and drinking cappuccino while contemplating the meaning of life was my vision. I was so blown away by the fact that I was going to ITALY (I just must be part Italian), that I never thought about all the traveling I could do while I was there. It was the foam on my cappuccino, so to speak, to also explore Spain, France, and England. Now when I think back on that semester, Barcelona - with its mesmerizing architecture and vibrant streets - is as memorable and meaningful as Florence is to me.
When I got pregnant, I didn't think beyond LO. She was everything. Maybe Baby #2 is my Barcelona. But the question still remains: When?
Monday, September 12, 2011
Time
Where does it go? LO started "school" last week and I have been left pondering this question. The last two years have been enveloped in a foggy haze. A bittersweet, tender sort of hazing....full of sleepless nights, snuggles and the expansion of my heart.
Although she only goes to Pre-K two days a week for four hours, this is a monumental change in my life. For the last two years I have lost J (me) and gained LO. It was not demanded nor expected of me by P or anybody else for that matter. This full immersion into motherhood was self-imposed. It is not how I imagined it, but it was full-heartedly my choice. I always thought I would be the kind of woman who did it all; great marriage, a crazy love affair with my baby, successful career, many hobbies and charity work. All the while, maintaining an immaculate manicure and baking delicious treats regularly.
The reality looks quite different. I have managed to be (at least I think so) a good wife, a loving (bordering on obsessive) mother, a decent daughter and friend (I could step it up a notch), a formidable "housewife" (things are clean enough and homemade meals are prepared most days.) What happened to the thriving business endeavors and all that volunteering I was supposed to do? And forget about the manicure, my cuticles are as dry as this Texas drought.
When I dropped off LO on her first day of school, she rose to the occasion like a champion. She held back the tears as I waved goodbye because, for some strange reason, she is a brave almost-two year old. I have protected and nurtured her, but I wasn't aware that I had taught her courage. It probably has nothing to do with me. She may just be a natural warrior. She disconcertedly looked around the classroom at the hollering kids; her brown eyes as big as saucers. She was scared but as soon as she saw her good friend Elmo, she was ok.
I knew that she would love the experience of school. Coloring, P.E., music class, reading! She'll be in heaven with all those activities. I, on the other hand, did not have any activities planned. I was so busy packing her lunch and getting her backpack ready that I never thought about how I'd spend my time. I sat in the car (after wiping only a couple of tears) and thought "Now what?"
Although I am completely smitten with LO, do not think that I want or need to be with her every waking moment (it just works out that way sometimes). I love those precious hours when P takes her to the park or to their favorite establishment, Chuck E Cheese. I cherish the quiet grocery shopping experience, without a little voice repeating "BooBeBeeS" (blueberries) or "Banana" a million times in the produce section. There are nights when I count down the minutes to bed time, highly anticipating a bath and glass of wine. Why was this free time so hard to fill?
I did not want to go home. I made a rule that I would not use LO's school time to do housework or run errands. If she is enjoying enriching activities, I need to be also. I headed to my favorite coffee shop and sat. I did not drive-thru like I normally do with LO in tow. I read a newspaper (I'm embarrassed to admit that I haven't read a paper since I had a subscription to the LA Times over two years ago). Once I finished the entire paper - I even read the sports section - I was stumped again. I did not have a book, my laptop, or even a pen and paper!
Although I wanted so desperately to be productive, I couldn't break my rule on the first day. But I could run to the post office, put gas, hit the grocery store. All in record time because I don't have to take LO in and out of the car seat. No, I must honor my time by doing something enriching. I could shop. But I'm not a window shopper and lack of funds makes actual shopping, well, impossible. And I'm quite sure shopping isn't considered an enriching pastime. What else? Two hours in and I declared LO's first day of school a bust. On my end. I was sure she was ripping it up, finger painting or shaking some maracas.
Was I jealous that my daughter was enjoying herself while I eavesdropped on a stranger's (very boring) business call in The Coffee Bean?
The answer was yes. I was bitter that I wasn't shaking maracas with her! Then the cutest little girl skipped in with her mom. The two of them...two peas in a pod. I missed my LO. How pathetic.
I pulled myself together and moseyed across the street to a bookstore while I chatted on the phone with an old friend. I felt better.
It was time. As I walked down the hall to her classroom I heard a familiar sob. Is that LO? What happened? Poor thing. It was too much for her.
LO ran to me with big crocodile tears running down her cheeks. "Mama, Mama," she shouted. Music to my ears. I picked her up and held her tight. "Mama is here, I missed you too," I reassured her.
She then pointed at her nose and said "Hurt Nose. Hurt Nose."
What? Ms. Teena interjected, "She was hit in the nose by a book right before you got here."
So she hasn't been crying incessantly for her mother? Nope. Not one cry until the nose incident.
LO calmed down, waved bye to Ms. Teena and said "C-ya Niños."
And just like that, I realized that my daughter had a life and I had to get one too.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Panda
We had a great couple over for dinner this past weekend. After dessert, they showed us pictures of their recent Caribbean trip on the laptop (Barbados has been added to the ever-growing list of places I must see before I die). This somehow segued into looking at ridiculous You Tube videos. We laughed so hard at this Panda Cheese commercial from Egypt:
Hysterical, right? It wasn't just being under the influence of Prosecco that made this video a hoot. It's the subtle, demure manner in which the Panda hurls objects and maintains an adorable and almost innocent expression throughout the fit of rage.
As the laughs subsided, I burst out "I live with that Panda!" The three of them stared blankly at me.
It's true. LO resembles the Panda. Yes she has big dark eyes and is so huggable. Unfortunately, I'm not referring to physical similarities. LO acts just like this naughty Panda. And also looks so dang cute while wreaking her mischief.
LO is what I like to call a chronic FLINGER. She flings things all day long. And when the bowl of Cheerios splatters against the wall, she faces me with the most calm, unrepentant look. There is no sign of rage; no explanation for the act of destruction. She did it and that's that.
I first realized that Panda and LO were kindred spirits when Panda nudges the TV over so nonchalantly. Although LO has never attempted this particular move, she has tipped over kitchen chairs, her own shopping cart full of "groceries" and her painting easel; all with an air of composure.
Most of the time, LO's flinging is a reaction to my action or words: "LO, no more raisins." Yet she never gives me a warning. Not a screech or angry grunt. Nothing. Just the confident launch of her sippy cup.
At least the victims of Panda had Buddy Holly's song as their cue to duck and cover.
Maybe I should take the advice of the advertiser and Never say NO to LO!
I first realized that Panda and LO were kindred spirits when Panda nudges the TV over so nonchalantly. Although LO has never attempted this particular move, she has tipped over kitchen chairs, her own shopping cart full of "groceries" and her painting easel; all with an air of composure.
Most of the time, LO's flinging is a reaction to my action or words: "LO, no more raisins." Yet she never gives me a warning. Not a screech or angry grunt. Nothing. Just the confident launch of her sippy cup.
At least the victims of Panda had Buddy Holly's song as their cue to duck and cover.
Maybe I should take the advice of the advertiser and Never say NO to LO!
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Boob
I've learned that having a toddler inevitably means having mortifying moments. LO barely learned to articulate her thoughts and already manages to make me duck and hide at times. And laugh my arse off at other times.
She has taken a liking to the following words and phrases:
"No Way" - Self explanatory...her bratty response to me when she isn't feeling cooperative.
"C ya, be ya" - As in "See ya, wouldn't want to be ya." If you're asking yourself why she would be using this super-dated, super-lame adieu it's because her mama is super-dated and super-lame.
"Ohhh, Thank Eee" - Her enthusiastic response to "Do you want to watch Dora?" or "Do you want a cookie?" With a full-on bumpkin accent.
"Teach Dougie" - Referring to the song "Teach me how to Dougie" and she busts out with the corresponding dance.
"Push out Poo Poo" - She sits on her seat and repeats what I have been coaching her during potty training. I would have chosen my words more carefully if I would have known she'd repeat my instructions every time she has a bowel movement. I hope she outgrows this one fast. I'm waiting for her to say this in a public bathroom.
"Sowwy" - She does not always use this in the normal apologetic way. She may say sorry when she falls, for instance. Maybe she's apologizing to her own body for the pain she has inflicted upon it? I don't know.
"Boob" - She's obsessed with naming body parts. This word is at the top of the list now. She caught me off guard when I was exiting the shower and she stared perplexed. I should have said "this is called a chest." Instead I said "this is a boob." She walked off. Later as P was changing her, she points to her chest and says "boob." Great. She now identifies this body part everywhere (only places where bare chests are acceptable of course): at the pool when men have on swim trunks and no shirt; at Abercrombie where the shirtless male model stands. If she sees a nipple, she'll point and scream "boob." Sorry for the embarrassment at the pool, fellow neighbor. My daughter was not calling you out for having "man boobs" (although you did). She was just practicing her expanding vocabulary.
She's such a tiny tot; I thought I had a few more years before I had to watch what I say but I was mistaken. She imitates EVERYTHING I say and do.
I really only have myself (and P) to blame for these embarrassing encounters. She does not go to school yet nor does she spend any extended (or short, for that matter) amount of time without one of her parents. There are no outside influences to point the finger at. We are responsible for everything that LO learns right now. How frightening.
We better step up our game and teach her perfect and polite diction. Or we could just sign her up for a toddler class and blame the teacher and kids.
She has taken a liking to the following words and phrases:
"No Way" - Self explanatory...her bratty response to me when she isn't feeling cooperative.
"C ya, be ya" - As in "See ya, wouldn't want to be ya." If you're asking yourself why she would be using this super-dated, super-lame adieu it's because her mama is super-dated and super-lame.
"Ohhh, Thank Eee" - Her enthusiastic response to "Do you want to watch Dora?" or "Do you want a cookie?" With a full-on bumpkin accent.
"Teach Dougie" - Referring to the song "Teach me how to Dougie" and she busts out with the corresponding dance.
"Push out Poo Poo" - She sits on her seat and repeats what I have been coaching her during potty training. I would have chosen my words more carefully if I would have known she'd repeat my instructions every time she has a bowel movement. I hope she outgrows this one fast. I'm waiting for her to say this in a public bathroom.
"Sowwy" - She does not always use this in the normal apologetic way. She may say sorry when she falls, for instance. Maybe she's apologizing to her own body for the pain she has inflicted upon it? I don't know.
"Boob" - She's obsessed with naming body parts. This word is at the top of the list now. She caught me off guard when I was exiting the shower and she stared perplexed. I should have said "this is called a chest." Instead I said "this is a boob." She walked off. Later as P was changing her, she points to her chest and says "boob." Great. She now identifies this body part everywhere (only places where bare chests are acceptable of course): at the pool when men have on swim trunks and no shirt; at Abercrombie where the shirtless male model stands. If she sees a nipple, she'll point and scream "boob." Sorry for the embarrassment at the pool, fellow neighbor. My daughter was not calling you out for having "man boobs" (although you did). She was just practicing her expanding vocabulary.
She's such a tiny tot; I thought I had a few more years before I had to watch what I say but I was mistaken. She imitates EVERYTHING I say and do.
I really only have myself (and P) to blame for these embarrassing encounters. She does not go to school yet nor does she spend any extended (or short, for that matter) amount of time without one of her parents. There are no outside influences to point the finger at. We are responsible for everything that LO learns right now. How frightening.
We better step up our game and teach her perfect and polite diction. Or we could just sign her up for a toddler class and blame the teacher and kids.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Mo money Mo problems
I don't know anything about these problems Biggie Smalls raps about. This was made perfectly clear recently when P took pictures of all of our valuables for insurance purposes. I followed him around the apartment like a curious cat (Lizzie, our cat, would follow P everywhere when she was a kitten...now I see the allure). This should be fun. Let's see all that we have acquired in our 7 years together!
He snapped the requisite technology; two TVs, a desktop, a laptop, a stereo (do we even call them that anymore?) and an IPOD the size of a brick we bought as newlyweds (I hope our policy is replacement value because this one isn't worth 5 bucks). A nice camera we purchased for our Babymoon in Maui (just a cheesy name for your last chance to live it up before the ball, I mean, baby drops). What else do we have? The jewelry, of course. As I arranged the items on the kitchen table (a couple of nice watches we have bought for each other, our wedding rings and some lovely pieces P has gifted me), I saw it. This all fits in one shot. That's it. No need for more pictures. All of our family jewels (no double entendre intended) fit neatly on one placemat.
Shouldn't we have MORE? I know that sounds greedy and awful but that is how I felt after our inventory session. When you see, piece by piece, the items in your life that are insurable it can be shocking.
Why had I never realized this before? Is it because I'm a glass half-full type of person so I have never dwelled on what I don't have? Or is it because, thanks to a very practical mother, I have always understood that life is about priorities. We prioritize experiences over belongings. I would rather spend on a nice dinner with friends than a dress, any day. I guess I have had my share of dinners because I don't own many dresses. I have also prioritized financial security above shopping. P and I socked away a nice percentage of our paychecks to an emergency fund. Turns out we have needed it. Finances are a very personal thing and what works for one person may not for another. I am not trying to get all Suze Orman on you and shell out financial advice. I'm only interested in finding out why a $25,000 renter's policy is more than enough for us.
The photo shoot also made me think about the expectations I used to have for an adult when I was a kid. And whether I was living up to them being that I am, in fact, an adult now. I suppose I thought that nearing thirty years old, I would be a bit more, let's say, sophisticated. I would be an owner of a nice string of pearls and something Chanel other than sunglasses. A nice tweed suit perhaps? Although I worked in costumes for five years I didn't get swept up in that lifestyle. I only made a few big splurges on designer handbags as rewards for surviving some grueling film projects. Now I cannot even fathom spending that kind of money on a purse. That money could make a nice contribution to LO's college fund. Such thoughts confirm to me that I will most likely never own another Chloe bag. So I'll take extra good care of it. Should I photograph it too?
Anyhow, as I struggled with my disappointment, a positive realization came to me. Seeing my sparsely accessorized placemat was liberating (here's the glass half-full trait at work). We are not tied to much - just to each other. Life seemed more clear and simple. Money is irrelevant. I was in the middle of an 'AHA' moment!
What matters is really experiencing all that life has to offer....love, sunsets, nibbling on your baby's toes, sipping wine with friends, seeing new places. Wait, I already have a problem with this epiphany. I can't renounce money all together. I do need money to experience life the way I like. I want wine and travel and in practical terms, LO needs diapers and plenty of food. Money should be respected (if you have too little, life can be a bitch) but not adored. Maybe P and I were on the right track to begin with. We spend on what we need and what brings us joy. And try not to get swept up in the rat race (this is not always easy which is why I don't even step into a Sephora; I always come out of there with another lipstick I don't need).
So when I get overwhelmed by the material world, I'll think of my placemat. It will remind me that I have it all and not much at the same time. Just how I like it.
The pearls will have to wait for now. Where would I rock them anyhow... the playground?
He snapped the requisite technology; two TVs, a desktop, a laptop, a stereo (do we even call them that anymore?) and an IPOD the size of a brick we bought as newlyweds (I hope our policy is replacement value because this one isn't worth 5 bucks). A nice camera we purchased for our Babymoon in Maui (just a cheesy name for your last chance to live it up before the ball, I mean, baby drops). What else do we have? The jewelry, of course. As I arranged the items on the kitchen table (a couple of nice watches we have bought for each other, our wedding rings and some lovely pieces P has gifted me), I saw it. This all fits in one shot. That's it. No need for more pictures. All of our family jewels (no double entendre intended) fit neatly on one placemat.
Shouldn't we have MORE? I know that sounds greedy and awful but that is how I felt after our inventory session. When you see, piece by piece, the items in your life that are insurable it can be shocking.
Why had I never realized this before? Is it because I'm a glass half-full type of person so I have never dwelled on what I don't have? Or is it because, thanks to a very practical mother, I have always understood that life is about priorities. We prioritize experiences over belongings. I would rather spend on a nice dinner with friends than a dress, any day. I guess I have had my share of dinners because I don't own many dresses. I have also prioritized financial security above shopping. P and I socked away a nice percentage of our paychecks to an emergency fund. Turns out we have needed it. Finances are a very personal thing and what works for one person may not for another. I am not trying to get all Suze Orman on you and shell out financial advice. I'm only interested in finding out why a $25,000 renter's policy is more than enough for us.
The photo shoot also made me think about the expectations I used to have for an adult when I was a kid. And whether I was living up to them being that I am, in fact, an adult now. I suppose I thought that nearing thirty years old, I would be a bit more, let's say, sophisticated. I would be an owner of a nice string of pearls and something Chanel other than sunglasses. A nice tweed suit perhaps? Although I worked in costumes for five years I didn't get swept up in that lifestyle. I only made a few big splurges on designer handbags as rewards for surviving some grueling film projects. Now I cannot even fathom spending that kind of money on a purse. That money could make a nice contribution to LO's college fund. Such thoughts confirm to me that I will most likely never own another Chloe bag. So I'll take extra good care of it. Should I photograph it too?
Anyhow, as I struggled with my disappointment, a positive realization came to me. Seeing my sparsely accessorized placemat was liberating (here's the glass half-full trait at work). We are not tied to much - just to each other. Life seemed more clear and simple. Money is irrelevant. I was in the middle of an 'AHA' moment!
What matters is really experiencing all that life has to offer....love, sunsets, nibbling on your baby's toes, sipping wine with friends, seeing new places. Wait, I already have a problem with this epiphany. I can't renounce money all together. I do need money to experience life the way I like. I want wine and travel and in practical terms, LO needs diapers and plenty of food. Money should be respected (if you have too little, life can be a bitch) but not adored. Maybe P and I were on the right track to begin with. We spend on what we need and what brings us joy. And try not to get swept up in the rat race (this is not always easy which is why I don't even step into a Sephora; I always come out of there with another lipstick I don't need).
So when I get overwhelmed by the material world, I'll think of my placemat. It will remind me that I have it all and not much at the same time. Just how I like it.
The pearls will have to wait for now. Where would I rock them anyhow... the playground?
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Wimp
My baby will never, ever be this little again. In the midst of all the craziness, good and bad, I remind myself of this profound fact. Each day she grows and grows. So when she shadows me and demands every morsel of attention, this realization gives me patience. So what if the house needs to be vacuumed (Cheerios jab the soles of my feet) or my eyebrows look like an overgrown forest. Let's go play kitchen!
Making time for myself has been a constant challenge since LO's birth. As she gets older though, it has become more of a priority to make Mama a priority. With P's support, I'm spending more time alone doing things that I enjoy. Hence, the creation of this blog. I have read 3 books in the last month (that's more than I have in the last 2 years) and taken a cooking class. Also, I am officially a regular movie-goer again!
I still have an addiction to Bravo TV, but it does not account for all my "ME" time anymore. I'm taking steps to become a real, whole person again. Not just a mom and a "Real Housewives of (insert any city because I watch them all)" junkie.
These are tiny steps but this is the technique of my choosing. I am not ready to make drastic changes. I enjoy waking up with LO and putting her to sleep and not missing much in between. It is what works for this mama right now.
Just as I am basking in the triumph of my personal challenge, LO decides it's time for her to become more of a challenge. We were coasting along when suddenly and abruptly the Terrible Not-Quite Twos torpedoed us. Help. Mayday!
I read the books and articles on child rearing. But some days I just feel like I've been kicked in the rear. No matter how much knowledge I attempt to arm myself with, there are days like today where it's all a bunch of hoo-ey! The expert advice fails.
At Target, a mother with a dribbly, sweet baby in the Bjorn, looked over sympathetically as LO hurled Elmo across the aisle. She sees what awaits her and doesn't seem terrified in the least. I know I used to be when I would see toddlers. I would think "Oh no, not yet, please God, not EVER." Yet here I am with a crazy one on my hands.
As calmly as a frazzled and embarrassed person can, I ask LO to please stop torturing Elmo and put him back with the rest of his posse.
"NO!" she retorts.
"Please, LO," I ask firmly but nicely (just as the book says).
"NO MAMA," she screams as she sprints off.
Now what, Dr. Child Expert??? I want a full refund.
How and when did this happen? I was the proud mom of a sweet baby like the one in the Bjorn. I would get "ohhs' and "ahhs" from strangers. Now I get cold, judging stares as I chase down my toddler. I must be doing something terribly wrong.
And then I remember we are talking about a 21 month-old. She is quite new to this gig called life. A mere 9 months ago she started walking. I can't remember ANYTHING noteworthy I have accomplished in the last 9 months. In that time period, LO has mastered running, learned a new language and picked up numerous hobbies. For the little time she has had on this earth, she has learned a lot. It's just too bad listening to her mother does not seem to be high on the priority list, and judging by most teenagers, it won't be any time soon.
So my not-so-expert advice to myself is to cut her some slack. And myself while I'm at it.
Au revoir
(LO has inspired me to learn French)
P.S. Target Mom is not a mother of one child, but of four cute girls. She swore that it only gets easier the more you have. She said the first and second are "rough" but by the third and fourth, it's a breeze. "They practically take care of each other." I'll take your word for it.
But thanks, Target Mom, for making me feel better about being crazed with only one when you could have just called me a WIMP! (Although you probably thought it. I would have if I were you.)
Making time for myself has been a constant challenge since LO's birth. As she gets older though, it has become more of a priority to make Mama a priority. With P's support, I'm spending more time alone doing things that I enjoy. Hence, the creation of this blog. I have read 3 books in the last month (that's more than I have in the last 2 years) and taken a cooking class. Also, I am officially a regular movie-goer again!
I still have an addiction to Bravo TV, but it does not account for all my "ME" time anymore. I'm taking steps to become a real, whole person again. Not just a mom and a "Real Housewives of (insert any city because I watch them all)" junkie.
These are tiny steps but this is the technique of my choosing. I am not ready to make drastic changes. I enjoy waking up with LO and putting her to sleep and not missing much in between. It is what works for this mama right now.
Just as I am basking in the triumph of my personal challenge, LO decides it's time for her to become more of a challenge. We were coasting along when suddenly and abruptly the Terrible Not-Quite Twos torpedoed us. Help. Mayday!
I read the books and articles on child rearing. But some days I just feel like I've been kicked in the rear. No matter how much knowledge I attempt to arm myself with, there are days like today where it's all a bunch of hoo-ey! The expert advice fails.
At Target, a mother with a dribbly, sweet baby in the Bjorn, looked over sympathetically as LO hurled Elmo across the aisle. She sees what awaits her and doesn't seem terrified in the least. I know I used to be when I would see toddlers. I would think "Oh no, not yet, please God, not EVER." Yet here I am with a crazy one on my hands.
As calmly as a frazzled and embarrassed person can, I ask LO to please stop torturing Elmo and put him back with the rest of his posse.
"NO!" she retorts.
"Please, LO," I ask firmly but nicely (just as the book says).
"NO MAMA," she screams as she sprints off.
Now what, Dr. Child Expert??? I want a full refund.
How and when did this happen? I was the proud mom of a sweet baby like the one in the Bjorn. I would get "ohhs' and "ahhs" from strangers. Now I get cold, judging stares as I chase down my toddler. I must be doing something terribly wrong.
And then I remember we are talking about a 21 month-old. She is quite new to this gig called life. A mere 9 months ago she started walking. I can't remember ANYTHING noteworthy I have accomplished in the last 9 months. In that time period, LO has mastered running, learned a new language and picked up numerous hobbies. For the little time she has had on this earth, she has learned a lot. It's just too bad listening to her mother does not seem to be high on the priority list, and judging by most teenagers, it won't be any time soon.
So my not-so-expert advice to myself is to cut her some slack. And myself while I'm at it.
Au revoir
(LO has inspired me to learn French)
P.S. Target Mom is not a mother of one child, but of four cute girls. She swore that it only gets easier the more you have. She said the first and second are "rough" but by the third and fourth, it's a breeze. "They practically take care of each other." I'll take your word for it.
But thanks, Target Mom, for making me feel better about being crazed with only one when you could have just called me a WIMP! (Although you probably thought it. I would have if I were you.)
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Gaga
My heart beats to music. Although I am a big fan, I am not musically inclined in the least. A fact recently confirmed by the maintenance man who came to fix a shelf in the closet and as he was leaving, teased "You should take that show on the road." I turned red. I completely forgot he was here as LO and I belted out "In New York..." (Jay-Z's "Empire State of Mind") while I mopped the kitchen floor. Being that LO is not even two years old, I was actually the only one belting. She was my back-up dancer. How mortifying!
I have a soundtrack for everything. For cooking, it is anything foreign; samba, salsa, french cafe' music. For eating, some old tunes from Billie Holiday. For working out, maybe Biggie Smalls or MJ. I am such a loyal lover that I will not apologize for still listening to The Cure (my grade school favorite), The Smiths (I caught severe Anglophilia in high school) or Luis Miguel (my first love).
True love endures feathered bangs, M.C. Hammer pants and neon green braces. So if I listened and loved you when I was a goofy, lanky kid chances are that the lanky, goofy adult still loves you. But the rule is that I had to be IN LOVE with you. Sorry to the very talented C+C Music Factory who inspired many Running Mans and Roger Rabbits but didn't survive the test of time. "Everybody Dance Now" is not on my IPOD. At least I don't think so.
So what's the point, you ask? In the same way that LO has my brown eyes, thin lips and long toes (awesome traits I know; her eyes are truly amazing though) she also has this crazy love of music. Since she was a squishy baby, she bobbed her head to the beat, any beat. Our favorite pastime is snuggling while jamming to "Da Beeeeeturs" (commonly known as The Beatles). There we are barefoot in the living room singing "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah."
She loves all music but has recently taken a great liking to pop, specifically lady pop artists (torture for me and P sometimes). She is head-over-heels, bonkers OBSESSED with Lady Gaga. She chants "Gaga, Gaga" when she wakes up in the morning, while she eats lunch, in the car. Anytime is Gagatime for LO.
We were at Nordstrom Rack where she was not a fan of the Michael Bolton song playing. She started shouting "GAGA, GAGA." I laughed. How cute is this, I thought to myself. This was a journal entry for tonight. (Side Note: I keep a journal in which I document sweet little somethings. This my attempt to remember details otherwise forgotten in the fog of daily life.) I explained that I did not have control over the music selection at Nordstrom Rack. I often speak to her in full sentences as if she were an adult.
"Do you understand?" I ask. She utters back an enthusiastic "YEAH" and goes back to planning her escape from the shopping cart seatbelt. These exchanges leave me convinced that LO is a genius toddler.
"Mama, GAGA!!," she insisted. Ok, maybe not a genius.
The thing is that when she asks for Gaga, I usually deliver. I indulge her in these kind of things at home. She did not understand why her tunes were not starting and why this snoozer (Michael Bolton) was still on. The chanting became louder and steadier; "Gaga Gaga Gaga Gaga." People began to stare. Now I was embarrassed. This was no longer cute. Does that happen to you? One second you think they're so dang cute doing what they're doing and the next you just want them to stop immediately.
When I can no longer reason with her, I bring out the snacks. Thank God for Annie's Cheddar Bunnies. I don't go anywhere without them.
Close call. We were seconds away from a wailing, back-arching tantrum. LO channels her inner contortionist in the heat of a tantrum. I felt very relieved because I was not ready to make a Dash of Shame: a hysterical (and not in the "ha ha" sense of the word) toddler-initiated exit. I hadn't even made it to the shoe department yet.
But you bet that the minute we got in the car all I could hear was "GAGA" so I cranked "Just Dance" and we drove away into the sunset...and into traffic.
Keep jamming.
Accompanying MOTY moment: LO in my rearview mirror, head banging to S+M (the explicit version) by Rihanna. I think, well it's not sooooo bad. She can't understand or even decipher the words. Next, I hear her shout "S,S,S,S,S,S" and then "M,M,M,M,M,M." Just perfect.
Tip of the day: If you must listen to music inappropriate for your tot at least make sure she/he cannot pronounce the lyrics. Better yet, choose songs with complicated words and not abbreviations for sexual fetishes.
I have a soundtrack for everything. For cooking, it is anything foreign; samba, salsa, french cafe' music. For eating, some old tunes from Billie Holiday. For working out, maybe Biggie Smalls or MJ. I am such a loyal lover that I will not apologize for still listening to The Cure (my grade school favorite), The Smiths (I caught severe Anglophilia in high school) or Luis Miguel (my first love).
True love endures feathered bangs, M.C. Hammer pants and neon green braces. So if I listened and loved you when I was a goofy, lanky kid chances are that the lanky, goofy adult still loves you. But the rule is that I had to be IN LOVE with you. Sorry to the very talented C+C Music Factory who inspired many Running Mans and Roger Rabbits but didn't survive the test of time. "Everybody Dance Now" is not on my IPOD. At least I don't think so.
So what's the point, you ask? In the same way that LO has my brown eyes, thin lips and long toes (awesome traits I know; her eyes are truly amazing though) she also has this crazy love of music. Since she was a squishy baby, she bobbed her head to the beat, any beat. Our favorite pastime is snuggling while jamming to "Da Beeeeeturs" (commonly known as The Beatles). There we are barefoot in the living room singing "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah."
She loves all music but has recently taken a great liking to pop, specifically lady pop artists (torture for me and P sometimes). She is head-over-heels, bonkers OBSESSED with Lady Gaga. She chants "Gaga, Gaga" when she wakes up in the morning, while she eats lunch, in the car. Anytime is Gagatime for LO.
We were at Nordstrom Rack where she was not a fan of the Michael Bolton song playing. She started shouting "GAGA, GAGA." I laughed. How cute is this, I thought to myself. This was a journal entry for tonight. (Side Note: I keep a journal in which I document sweet little somethings. This my attempt to remember details otherwise forgotten in the fog of daily life.) I explained that I did not have control over the music selection at Nordstrom Rack. I often speak to her in full sentences as if she were an adult.
"Do you understand?" I ask. She utters back an enthusiastic "YEAH" and goes back to planning her escape from the shopping cart seatbelt. These exchanges leave me convinced that LO is a genius toddler.
"Mama, GAGA!!," she insisted. Ok, maybe not a genius.
The thing is that when she asks for Gaga, I usually deliver. I indulge her in these kind of things at home. She did not understand why her tunes were not starting and why this snoozer (Michael Bolton) was still on. The chanting became louder and steadier; "Gaga Gaga Gaga Gaga." People began to stare. Now I was embarrassed. This was no longer cute. Does that happen to you? One second you think they're so dang cute doing what they're doing and the next you just want them to stop immediately.
When I can no longer reason with her, I bring out the snacks. Thank God for Annie's Cheddar Bunnies. I don't go anywhere without them.
Close call. We were seconds away from a wailing, back-arching tantrum. LO channels her inner contortionist in the heat of a tantrum. I felt very relieved because I was not ready to make a Dash of Shame: a hysterical (and not in the "ha ha" sense of the word) toddler-initiated exit. I hadn't even made it to the shoe department yet.
But you bet that the minute we got in the car all I could hear was "GAGA" so I cranked "Just Dance" and we drove away into the sunset...and into traffic.
Keep jamming.
Accompanying MOTY moment: LO in my rearview mirror, head banging to S+M (the explicit version) by Rihanna. I think, well it's not sooooo bad. She can't understand or even decipher the words. Next, I hear her shout "S,S,S,S,S,S" and then "M,M,M,M,M,M." Just perfect.
Tip of the day: If you must listen to music inappropriate for your tot at least make sure she/he cannot pronounce the lyrics. Better yet, choose songs with complicated words and not abbreviations for sexual fetishes.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
The Beginning
It happened a few weeks ago. P (the lovely husband) and I were finishing our dinner while LO (the awesome 21 month-old-daughter) was watching her allotted 30 minutes of TV when she unglued her eyes off of Dora and glued them onto my chicken thigh. Although my legs do resemble that of a chicken's, I am actually talking about the lemon chicken I cooked for dinner.
She bolted over and screamed "ITO, ITO" meaning "pollito" as in little chicken in Spanish. We speak English and Spanish to LO which makes broken toddler Spanglish the primary language of the household.
How could she possibly still be hungry? She had already eaten her dinner followed by two heaping bowls of yogurt with berries. LO can out-eat most grown men.
I dug my fingers and dissected what was left of the poor thigh. She scarfed down each tiny string of chicken I lay in her hand. It was like "A Christmas Carol" where Tiny Tim cuts apart one bean with his knife (that kills me every time!) She stood there waiting as I continued my futile attempt to get more out of that chick. I even offered some potatoes knowing she hates them.
"Mama, ITO!" she wailed. Crap. I chastised myself. Why didn't I make more? I vowed to make enough for a family of ten from now on.
"I-T-O, peeeze," She meant business using the "nice words." I had to think quick. So I said what any exemplary mom would say..."how about a cookie?"
She happily returned to her Tinkerbell chair, cookie in hand, and I happily returned to my glass of Rose'. I was quite pleased with myself. Crisis averted. And then just as I was relaxing into my chair...it hit me.
How ridiculous was this scene? Here my child is begging for nutritious food and instead I give her a cookie and distract her with TV so that I can finish my wine in peace.
"Mama of the Freaking Year," I blurted out to P.
So here I am sharing the first MOTY (Mama of the Year) moment with you. I wish I could say that these moments are few and far in between, but I have been scrutinizing my mothering since this first "incident" only to realize that there are many. I just hadn't paid much attention before.
Let me introduce myself. I am Jen: a former career woman, former cat owner, former reader, former movie theater attendee. I traded all that in to be a mama. The career was put on hold so I could be with LO. The cat got left at my mom's because she's psycho and hisses at LO. The books have been replaced by bad reality TV. And well, for as many mistakes as I do manage to make, I will not be "that" mom who takes her screaming child to the theatre. Therefore, no movies.
It has been 2 years, 6 months, 21 days and 6 wonderful hours (give or take) since Motherhood kicked in. In my experience, it started with that pregnancy test. I became wired differently. I sought out books, websites, magazines, other mothers. I honed in on anything and everything "baby." I was going to be prepared and be the picture of a calm and collected mom.
Here's the thing, once you get the hang of something, it all changes and those finessed skills are worth jack smack. For example, once you master the "football" hold, your nursing days are history. After you spend days Googling homemade baby food, they're on to steak and potatoes. You learn to tolerate (ok, love) Yo Gabba Gabba and now all she'll watch is Dora. I finally felt competent with a baby and now I have a toddler. You can't keep up. Or maybe that's all you can do: keep up. You'll never be ahead. At least I never seem to be.
So here I am bracing myself for the marathon of Motherhood. Because what I have learned is that you never stop learning.
Adios. Until next time...
Side Note: The Lemon Chicken recipe that is responsible for this whole fiasco can be found in the July issue of Bon Appetit.
She bolted over and screamed "ITO, ITO" meaning "pollito" as in little chicken in Spanish. We speak English and Spanish to LO which makes broken toddler Spanglish the primary language of the household.
How could she possibly still be hungry? She had already eaten her dinner followed by two heaping bowls of yogurt with berries. LO can out-eat most grown men.
I dug my fingers and dissected what was left of the poor thigh. She scarfed down each tiny string of chicken I lay in her hand. It was like "A Christmas Carol" where Tiny Tim cuts apart one bean with his knife (that kills me every time!) She stood there waiting as I continued my futile attempt to get more out of that chick. I even offered some potatoes knowing she hates them.
"Mama, ITO!" she wailed. Crap. I chastised myself. Why didn't I make more? I vowed to make enough for a family of ten from now on.
"I-T-O, peeeze," She meant business using the "nice words." I had to think quick. So I said what any exemplary mom would say..."how about a cookie?"
She happily returned to her Tinkerbell chair, cookie in hand, and I happily returned to my glass of Rose'. I was quite pleased with myself. Crisis averted. And then just as I was relaxing into my chair...it hit me.
How ridiculous was this scene? Here my child is begging for nutritious food and instead I give her a cookie and distract her with TV so that I can finish my wine in peace.
"Mama of the Freaking Year," I blurted out to P.
So here I am sharing the first MOTY (Mama of the Year) moment with you. I wish I could say that these moments are few and far in between, but I have been scrutinizing my mothering since this first "incident" only to realize that there are many. I just hadn't paid much attention before.
Let me introduce myself. I am Jen: a former career woman, former cat owner, former reader, former movie theater attendee. I traded all that in to be a mama. The career was put on hold so I could be with LO. The cat got left at my mom's because she's psycho and hisses at LO. The books have been replaced by bad reality TV. And well, for as many mistakes as I do manage to make, I will not be "that" mom who takes her screaming child to the theatre. Therefore, no movies.
It has been 2 years, 6 months, 21 days and 6 wonderful hours (give or take) since Motherhood kicked in. In my experience, it started with that pregnancy test. I became wired differently. I sought out books, websites, magazines, other mothers. I honed in on anything and everything "baby." I was going to be prepared and be the picture of a calm and collected mom.
Here's the thing, once you get the hang of something, it all changes and those finessed skills are worth jack smack. For example, once you master the "football" hold, your nursing days are history. After you spend days Googling homemade baby food, they're on to steak and potatoes. You learn to tolerate (ok, love) Yo Gabba Gabba and now all she'll watch is Dora. I finally felt competent with a baby and now I have a toddler. You can't keep up. Or maybe that's all you can do: keep up. You'll never be ahead. At least I never seem to be.
So here I am bracing myself for the marathon of Motherhood. Because what I have learned is that you never stop learning.
Adios. Until next time...
Side Note: The Lemon Chicken recipe that is responsible for this whole fiasco can be found in the July issue of Bon Appetit.
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