Posts

On Being Mean

I didn't go to Montessori pre-school or Waldorf pre-school. I didn't go to Head Start. My early childhood training was very special. I like to call it the School of Ma and Moe. My mom (Moe) and her mom (Ma) were very close, both emotionally and in proximity. Growing up, we lived two houses away from my grandmother and I joined my mother at Ma's house every morning and evening. My mom was one of many visitors to Ma's house at these times of day, as folks dropped by for coffee and a donut and some rambunctious conversation. Whilst the adults smoked and swore, I sat next to them at the kitchen table, sipped my tea, munched my donut and colored. Every once in a while, another child might drop in, towed along by one of the other adult visitors, but often it was just me, a little gnome surrounded by big people who rarely noticed I was there. (Which, in those days was a good thing as children were to be seen and not heard.) While I colored and munched, I was always listening…

Another Mediocre Mom Blog

A week or so ago I was procrastinating via social media and scrolled by some mommy blog about being happy with mediocrity. It turns out I was just too busy to click on the post and later, when I went back to procrastinating, I couldn't find it. I never found the original post that piqued my interest, but it turns out there are at least five blogs dedicated to the subject. Here they are, in case you want to check them out: http://mediocremomblog.blogspot.com/, http://mediocremommy.com/, https://confessionsofamediocremom.wordpress.com/, mediocremum.com, and http://www.mediocre-mom.com/ After a quick peruse at these blog sites, I realized their common themes resonate with much of my own musings: we are all just trying to be the best moms we can be and sometimes we ace it and other times we suck and of course, we like to write about it. Except, a long, long time ago, I let go of being a super mom. My lackluster desire to be the bestest mom stems from a combination of being tired, ov…

Whatever You Do, Don't Give Your Family a Fish

I quit my family today. I woke up, just like every other day, at 5:30. It was dark and I was tired. I felt like I'd just shut my head off minutes ago but lo and behold, 7 hours had passed and my eyes fluttered before the alarm went off. Like every day that had proceeded this day, I put on my workout clothes and sneakers, washed my face, put in my contacts and shut myself in the laundry room. After 35 minutes of sweat and Gilmore Girls, I opened the door and walked through the house, turning on lights as I went. I checked email on my phone while feeding the pets. I packed lunches and started the coffee. I stuffed mittens and hats and scarves and sneakers into backpacks and lined the bags up along the couch with each bag owner's shoes and coat next to the bag. I turned on lights in each girls' room, said good morning, and then, "Time to Wake Up" roughly 23 times. I flipped on the computer in Caro's room and told her she had to get up. I YouTube'd a 10 min…

Should is a Stupid Word

I wish I was an octopus. I wish I had 8 tentacles and I could grab a bunch of stuff and do a bunch of stuff with my tentacles all at once. I wish I could clone myself and be in two places at once or at least be in two rooms of my house at the same time. Being a caregiver/parent requires one to be very good at multi-tasking. One must be able to bring 10 bags of groceries in from the car while carrying a toddler. One must be able to hold a child, whose nose is bleeding, while also watching a pot of pasta boiling on the stove. One must be able to relieve him or herself in the bathroom while making sure a child isn't setting the house on fire for heating macaroni in the microwave for 10 minutes. One must be able to get a good night's rest while being up all night with a sick child with a temp and a horrible cough. One must find time for him or herself while being someone else's whole universe. Being a parent and an individual human being at the same time feels like an oxymor…

To My Valentine

Met at CGP You thought I'd never get in Weird girl with tattoo. I thought you were fat, obnoxious and arrogant. Smoker. Hot Pockets. A night at the bar Our love blossomed at The Pratt. Museums and booze mixed. We became best friends Destiny. Fate. Forever. Others said we would not last. Married in the fall Surrounded by family and friends at "The Farm". We wanted so much. We bought a house and got jobs Do this together. Let's have a baby What a really great idea! Caro: life never the same. Along came Charlotte we, a family of four Full of love. No sleep. The time slips away as we figure it all out. Work, kids, each other. Sixteen years of us. Loving my life with you, Dear. Time flies when it's fun. Now we have gray hair, we are missing some teeth and fall asleep at eight. Our love is not old. Our love, instead, is timeless. Thank you, Valentine.

New Year's Peace

Almost every year I set a New Year's resolution or two. I'm a resolution kind of person because I'm a linear thinker and a goal setter. I like to set myself SMART goals- smart, measurable, attainable, realistic and time-bound. I'm not into setting lofty goals and creating expectations for myself that I can't meet, which in turn makes me feel like a loser who can't follow through on anything. Yet, I'm going to push myself a bit because I like the challenge and the feeling I get from accomplishing a goal. I'm that person who wants to do what I say and say what I do. I want to be accountable and try to hold myself accountable.In the past few years, my goals have always included something related to running and running a marathon was one of my greatest accomplished resolutions. During each week of training, I'd write the number of miles I'd completed on my kitchen window. There, splashed in primary colors, (those kid window makers are excellent for …

Raising Children: Marriage Inequality

When Andy and I moved in together, fourteen years ago, we never talked about the division of labor in the house. We never sat down and had a direct discussion about who would mow the lawn. He mowed the lawn. When it snowed, he shoveled (and, now, he snow blows). He didn't ask me if I was ok cleaning the toilets, I just cleaned them. I made the bed. When we got married, and opened a joint bank account, he started paying the bills. I sent the Christmas cards. Yes, it seems as though all of our household tasks fell in line within traditional male and female stereotypes. It seems like I took on tasks that women have always done and he was responsible for tasks usually completed by men. Yes, it's true, we didn't talk about who would do certain tasks. You see, I am not skilled at many of those particular tasks assigned to my gender. I tried, with much effort, to cook. After many an inedible meal and much wasted food, Andy took over and we became a mid-western casserole eating …