A Mom's Life

Some people may think that Andy and I are "lax" parents. Our house isn't a free range farm by any means, although just throwing food on the ground, and letting the kids wander around and pick it up when they are hungry, sounds pretty enticing. It's true that we aren't the strictest parents and that, regularly, there is mutiny on the bounty and we are held hostage by little pirate people. The drill sergeant in our house is 3 feet tall and belts outs commands like, "Get me a drink!", "Turn on Netflix!", or "You will not wash my hair!" while wearing only a pullup, squinting her eyes, and pointing an accusatory finger in our direction. Our kids are often in charge. I'm not going to lie to you. The dog may also be in charge from time to time. That's just the way it goes. As more and more of our peers have a third child, we are, unfortunately, asked if we, too, plan to expand. Are these people insane in the membrane? Have they been...

I know this much to be true: 1. The kids will get sick, often. 2. The kids will get sick when I have a multi-day span of time when I must be at work, no ifs, ands or buts. 3. I will get the call first. Apparently, all schools/child care centers forget that Andy is also on the emergency contact list. 4. The call will come within ten minutes of arriving at work. 5. If Andy is not traveling, I will successfully coerce him into taking time off to watch the kids. He will do his due diligence and will make sure to make me feel bad about it. Though I have talked about the important work event taking place on this day, he will not hesitate to ask, "What? You can't take the day off? Is work busy?" 6. If Andy is not available, I will pick up the sick child who will either a)smile and seem totally fine and spend the rest of the day laughing, singing, and watching TV while I attempt to "telecommute" during the rest of the sick day. Or b) spend the car ride home...

I have always enjoyed writing but never felt like I had something worth writing about until I had Caroline. The intensity of motherhood, the insanity of co-parenting, and the deep love I had for her compelled me to write it all down. Looking back at my blog posts is like reading my journal. It makes me laugh and it makes me cry. Blogging, however, is not journaling because I am posting my thoughts and feelings in cyberspace. I'm sharing my opinion with the whole world, or at least my friends and family and facebook-land. It's a very vulnerable place to be but it is also empowering. I'm often validated by the positive feedback I receive from a post. I just love to hear that someone else relates to what I've written or has found it touching or humorous. I'm delighted when I learn that someone has read it aloud (I always try to read each post aloud to Andy but he refuses and insists on reading it to himself.)even if it is to her annoyed husband who is sick of my bitc...

Andy and I are having a marital dispute. A lover's spat, if you will. No, it's not about money (we don't have any), sex (see previous), or religion. (see a pattern here?) We're add odds about parenting. We know that all other parents never argue about their kids and how to raise them so this may be really hard for all you perfect people to understand, but please, bear( looked this up, BTW, bare with me would be an invitation to undress) with me. You see, Andy thinks that it is A-OK to let our children a) eat McDonald's and candy regularly at each meal b) watch TV for as many hours as their little eyes and minds can handle c)go outside unattended (Caro), well with the dog. I think that is is A-Not-OK to a),b) or, c). Andy and I are yin and yang, life opposites, and I get that this is what makes two people a perfect pair, as apparently do thousands of years of philosophers and Paula Abdul. Yet, when you are trying to mold two little beings into role model citizens...

Something strange and rare happened in upstate yesterday. The sun came out and warmed our corner of the world to the point that we could comfortably go outside without down coats, mittens and snow pants. For the last five months or so, we have been trapped inside our little house-cave, recycling each others' germs. Yesterday, finally, we donned our fleeces and skipped gaily into the big beyond of our yard. That's where things went a little down hill, at least for me. Spring in upstate is a double edged sword. Nothing makes me happier than sunshine, birds chirping, and the chance to walk from the house to my car without tucking my neck into my shoulders like a turtle, protecting myself from the elements and other winter dangers. However, with spring comes a few things I don't like at all- like dirt. There's dirt all over the lawn, all over the deck, and therefore, all over the bottoms of our feet and my hard wood floors. In the spring, it rains a bit, or a lot. This m...

When Andy and I were in graduate school we visited Philadelphia. While I was taking photos from the steps of the art museum, Andy threw a mantantrum because I wasn't including him in any of the shots. If you sift through my albums from that period you see lots of photos of pouty Andy in various historic locations. Occassionally you might see a photo of pouty Andy beside me, if I was lucky enough to find a stranger willing to capture the moment for me. In the photos, Andy is always standing with his arms at his sides, stoically, staring through the camera in annoyance while I have my arms wrapped tightly around him. For a change of pace, we do have a few from grad school parties,where he is a little drunk, and he is leaning his head on mine for balance. Last week, amidst all of the requests I'm asked to take care of and can barely manage, Charlotte's daycare asked me to supply a photo of the two of us for a project about the book, Are You My Mother . Three minutes before ...

When I was a little girl I wanted to be a marine biologist, or a lawyer, or a writer. When I got to high school, an English teacher introduced me to art history, which sparked my passion for combining literature and art to understand the past. It was also at that time that I learned Spanish, a language I'd continue to study, and practice, during my high school and college years. Throughout adolescence and into adulthood, I refined my interest in people and culture, our understandings of ourselves and eventually, I studied how "stuff" tells us about people, culture, and place. Growing up, my mom would say, "Why don't you become a physical therapist? They help people and it's a well-paying, secure job." Unfortunately, I paid no attention to her. Honestly, my math and science grades weren't exactly stellar enough to propel me into a good college program to study physical therapy or anything that would require me to successfully identify body parts o...