At Least I’ll Be Able to Play the Damn Fiddle

I’ve obviously taken a little hiatus from writing and can honestly say that I’ve been suffering from a case of the blahs. Though there are various external circumstances that have been contributing to the blah feelings, I’m wondering if my sadness stems from something deeper. After reading a bit in a book my friend Katharine bought me called, “I Was a Great Mother Before I Had Kids,” I wonder if I’m not suffering as a result of simply not being able to be perfect.

I know that sounds ridiculous, but I really think it’s true that in modern-day parenting, that is this vague, unattainable goal that we subconsciously actually think we can achieve, which of course sets us up for terrible disappointment and failure. Where does this idea come from in the first place? Before we become parents many of us do think about the kind of parents we will be. I know that I consciously thought that I would be able to produce the most well-adjusted, well-rounded, kind kids the world has ever seen based on my marvelous parenting skills. I thought that if my husband and I could introduce things in positive ways and engage happily in various activities, that my children would not see anything in life as a chore and would be thrilled to try everything. Folding laundry is fun! Being nice to my brother is great! I love all sports! I can’t wait to take music lessons! I want to potty train! I want to try new foods! I just can’t wait to read! Of course I’d love ice skating lessons! I like the process of learning things and always give my best effort! I feel very comfortable shaking hands with grown men at age five! And the list goes on. And the list is absurd. And sadly, I must admit, I really, really believed deep down that this would all be true. Despite how unaware I was that this was the case. I never would have admitted that and would have said that it’s just important to accept the child as he is, that kids are all different, and it’s important to celebrate their unique qualities.

So, you might see where this is going. Kind of looks like a train wreck. Fast-forward a few years and I’m looking at two boys going on age 8 and age 5 respectively. I’ve learned a few lessons along the way. For example, when a child seems to walk to the beat of his own drummer and not be concerned with the mainstream, no amount of Star Wars and Speed Racer videos, Pokemon cards and other trendy toys will make any difference whatsoever. And I’m ashamed to admit it, but I brought these things home. What mother in her right mind says, “honey, why don’t we turn off that educational science video and put in Star Wars?” or, “Oh, I’m glad you’re enjoying that book. I see some boys your age playing with Pokemon cards, would you like some?” I have dragged home videos, sports equipment, tacky and poorly made plastic theme toys based on cartoon characters that are directly marketed at kids during commercials and are the bane of many parents’ existences, in the hope that my older son would suddenly see the light and start demanding this crap regularly and maybe fit in better with the kids at school. However, to this day, the only two purchases he has made with his own allowance money are an Audubon field guide to wild mushrooms and a Swiss Army knife. My younger son, however, likes all the gadgets I bring home and plays with them until they break. But then, he too loses interest. Star Wars had a life span of about 4 months in our house. It’s all but forgotten now. And I’ve learned that no amount of totally fun socializing events will turn a moody introvert into an extrovert.

I guess part of me wants to make sure that I’m not DENYING my children the stuff that will help them fit in. It’s very likely that I’m looking at my kids through a veil of my own insecurities. I think they’ll be great at something I’m not because I’m giving them the opportunity to try something early. I want them to fit in and feel “normal” the way I never really did. I worry that my husband and I somehow gave them inferior genes since we have two boys and neither my husband nor I are great athletes. I ache when my 7-year olds says, “I’m not really a fast runner.” Aaack, my husband and I are not fast runners, how could we even THINK of having kids? Then he says,  “and sometimes when I run I get stitches in my side.” I gasp again because I always got stitches in MY side as a kid. How could I do this to my poor little boy?

Despite all this pain and my personal realizations about how crazy I guess I really am, there seems to be a glimmer of light shining. After all these years of giving—of cooking and cleaning and cutting toenails and arranging play dates and filling out forms and picking preschools and arranging lessons and bringing home toys and books and giving pep talks, I asked for fiddle lessons for my 40^th birthday. For me. Why? Because I have always absolutely loved the instrument, but was too afraid to try. But I decided that if I do try, I may have 40 years or so to enjoy playing, and there is no time like the present. I’m enjoying the lessons. I think the instrument fits me (it’s small). It’s a relief to think that I’m doing something for me. I’ve done freelance work over the years and have found some time to paint, but painting takes a long time with set up and clean up. I can practice fiddle for 5 minutes at a time, so it’s perfect for now when I have so little free time.

I’m enjoying my Monday night fiddle lesson enough to not be willing to enroll the kids in an activity on the same night for fear I’d have to give the lessons up. If my husband has to travel for work, I plan to drag the kids to the half hour lesson with me. Dinner may not be so spectacular on those nights. But I’m thinking that ironically this may be one of the greater gifts I can give them. It will give them a chance to see that I respect myself enough to do something just for me. It will also give them both a chance to see someone go through the process of learning something new, being bad at first, working at it, and slowly improving. These won’t be lessons I will lecture them with, they will just learn by watching, if they choose to. And maybe they won’t notice it or think about it now, but it will inspire them to try new things and not be afraid of failure when they’re older. Or, maybe it won’t. But whether or not they love tennis or always remember to say “please and thank you,” at least I’ll be able to play the damn fiddle.

Got Control?

It’s been a disappointing couple of weeks. First, there is just that winter gloom that appears in February in Maryland: weather with a tendency towards the raw and bitter, without a hint of the snowy winter-wonderland that can redeem the darkest months of the year. The gloom around here has been compounded by Jasper’s pneumonia, which finally released its grip two days ago and Jasper went back to school and felt well for the first time after 11 days. My image of the last few days of near-quarantine are of Jasper diligently carrying around a box of tissues, of which he has become a connoisseur (he prefers Kleenex; Puffs are too “creamy” and the generics too rough), and a plastic bag to deposit the contaminated ones in to keep them off the floor. His nose and cheeks were bright red from all the wiping and nose blowing, and are just starting to heal.

I find sickness so hard to deal with. Of course I feel so sad for my sick child. But I have selfish concerns too. If my child is sick, I don’t get to see anyone either. I have to put aside my plans and projects because suddenly any free time I thought I would have dries up. It’s hard playing nursemaid for days on end. And canceling all the plans is distressing. At age 7, Jasper knows just what he’s missing. The play dates get canceled, he missed the Valentine’s Day party at school and the 100^th day of school celebration. He missed his art class, and a play we were planning to go with friends. And we all missed a ski trip. The kids had been watching snowboarding, skiing, and “extreme jumping” videos on the web in preparation and couldn’t wait to try to slide down some little hills at our local ski slopes. No matter how much medicine and soup I fed Jasper, no matter how many times I took his temperature and had him nap, I just couldn’t make him get better. Perhaps the most disappointing aspect to the missed people and plans is the fact that dear friends of ours are leaving for Zambia on Monday and won’t return until the end of May. I couldn’t see them or help them at all with packing or childcare, and the kids couldn’t play together. We did finally get to see them today for a little while to say goodbye, but since I couldn’t be part of the process of seeing them off, it’s a little surreal to know now that I won’t have another opportunity to see them until we welcome them home in three months.

I can maturely and rationally realize that with all the grief and horror in the world, a sick child who will get better is nothing to complain about. But it’s not just the missed events that frustrate me. My job is to keep the family on a schedule and I essentially plan our lives. I make the doctors appointments, schedule the teacher conferences and play dates and dinners with friends. I make sure there’s enough time for homework and food shopping and meal preparation. I plan the date nights and visits with grandma and grandpa. I get the kids to and from school on time, make sure they have enough time to play outside in the fresh air and make sure we get to the library. And when I’m not doing that I have my own projects: volunteer and freelance work, and projects around the house. And when one of the kids gets sick, it all stops. I can’t do my job, or more precisely, my entire job description turns on a dime. I cancel everything that was planned and make new arrangements for trips to the doctor and pharmacy. I become aware that in this phase, my entire life is dictated by illness, and that any control I think I have over what happens is largely an illusion.

The reality of parenting is how little control we have so much of the time. We can’t control what our children like or want to do or how they feel. We can’t control our own schedules because so often a tired or sick child will force us to change our plans. In my case I realize that at times, I just feel helpless.

I remember hearing about a study of Centenarians. The researcher wanted to discover what traits these long-lived people might share. One trait that seemed to appear in person after person was an ability to manage stress and roll with the punches. I don’t think of myself as particularly controlling and still love doing things spontaneously. But as I find myself having less control in my life, I find myself wanting more. For now I am grateful that Jasper is healthy and that life is back to a more predictable pattern. I appreciate that now, at least for a little while, I can once again feel that I have some control. 

And We’re Competitive About Cupcakes?

I recently received one of my alumni magazines (about which I’ve written before) and read the following article: http://www.colby.edu/colby.mag/issues/current/features.php?issueid=48&articleid=906

To be honest, I wasn’t really sure what the point was. I think, though, that it was about how these incredibly high-powered women who sound like they chew nails for breakfast wish their husbands would help pack lunches and make kids’ doctors appointments, and then they would have perfect balance in their lives. However, their ideas of parenting (I am paraphrasing here) include taking turns relieving the nanny and taking the 4-year old to school once a month (I’m serious). How can they think they will ever find balance? And they are sad that they will never be able to compete with moms who bake gourmet cupcakes and attend their kids’ sporting events. Whatever. And why do I feel like I will be viewed anti-women because I wrote this? I think of myself as a feminist and think men and women are equal in their abilities. I do think the women mentioned in the article are crazy though. 

I included my response below: 

I was confused by the article “Double Duty” in the winter 2009 issue. Was the point to say that these women would be having an easier time if their husbands took on more domestic responsibilities, or was it a celebration of what these women are achieving in business? I found it depressing. Every educated, two-career couple must make hard decisions when they bring a child in to the world. That child arrives with a 24-hour a day need for care. Two parents with two full-time jobs suddenly have three full-time jobs, one of which comes with strong emotional needs. Every family must decide what will work for all of them as individuals and as a unit and usually both parents need to make sacrifices and compromises.

The careers these high-powered women have chosen typically do not allow time for family, a condition that was at one time reserved for men. If both members of a couple choose these types of careers, then there will never be enough family time, whether the husband does his fair share of laundry and appointment-making or not. I’m not saying the women should not pursue these careers, but I believe that families find more balance when one or both members of the couple put the brakes on their careers for a while when they have kids at home. In choosing to push the careers forward full-throttle at a time when kids need you the most is not taking their needs into consideration. It is a selfish decision, and an imbalance is an inevitable result.

The fact that these women feel they are competing with moms who bake gourmet cupcakes, volunteer at school and attend sporting events is sad. What child cares about gourmet cupcakes? Where people spend their limited time is a reflection of their values, whether it’s at work, the gym, volunteering at the homeless shelter or at the tanning salon. And parents, mothers and fathers, who volunteer at school and attend sporting events, are there because they want to be—they value time with their children. No trophies are handed out, but the families that spend time together benefit by having a strong bond, shared memories, and a connection to their community. Relationships reflect the amount of effort that are put in to them and this is true with colleagues, a spouse, friends and kids, and we all have the difficult decision of deciding where we will put that energy.

I know many women (and men) who are proud to strong models for their children by bucking society’s obsession with status, money and egocentrism, and performing one of the most undervalued jobs in our country: raising our kids. 

Sibling Relations

One of my favorite things about my kids getting older is watching their relationship develop. Jasper was really excited when I was pregnant with Hugo, anxiously awaiting his new sibling. Unfortunately, for unknown reasons, he was positive that he was getting a little sister, and he was disappointed at first with a little brother. He soon came around though once the baby was born and generally adored the new addition to the family. That is, of course, until Hugo became mobile. Once the baby could get into Jasper’s toys and projects, knock down Lego towers and scribble on his drawings, Jasper wasn’t so thrilled about a little brother any more. I remember saying at one point a couple years back, “if they’re together, they’re fighting.”

Fast-forward two years and I would genuinely say that my boys are best friends.  At ages 4 and 7 they can spend hours playing. They still fight of course, but there are long stretches of time when they can visit imaginary lands together, build forts, and truly enjoy each other’s company.

Hugo has long admired Jasper, but recently his worship of his older brother has grown almost comical, with his desire to imitate Jasper’s facial expressions, clothing, and jokes. I will ask the boys what they want for breakfast and Hugo will stare silently out of the corner of his eyes at Jasper until his big brother responds, “I’ll have a waffle.” Hugo will look at me right after that and say, “I’ll have a waffle.” The copying has become so blatant that Jasper, Jim and I will often say, “Hugo, you are your own person. You can choose whatever breakfast/activity/color crayon you want.” This does not seem to be helping. Even when it comes to a discussion about their activities we might propose, “boys, you have time to watch a video or draw before dinner.” Hugo will stand there, not knowing what to do, until Jasper answers, “let’s watch Prehistoric Park,” immediately followed by Hugo happily yelling with conviction, “yeah, Prehistoric Park!”  

At times I worry that Hugo will end up not being the person he is destined to be because he is so influenced by Jasper. He has certainly adopted many of Jasper’s interests I think, purely because they’re Jasper’s. He can identify obscure dinosaurs and birds because of time spent with his big brother. However, in this regard, I see more balance. Jasper has been very much influenced by his little brother too. As a really little kid Jasper showed no interest in roughhousing with other boys, ball sports, race cars, and other “typical” boy behavior. But, he got a tough little brother, and I love watching them fight over who has the better, faster race car and then laugh gleefully as they play-smash the cars in a demolition derby. Jasper had no choice but to learn to wrestle with a little brother that was constantly flying through the air and landing on his back. These new skills have served him well and I now see him playfully tussling with his classmates after school and feels proud when he can “take down a fourth grader.” As much as Jasper introduces Hugo to the wonders of how mushrooms reproduce and the fascinating shapes of various crystals, Hugo has made his brother current on the cool factor of Star Wars, Speed Racer and monster trucks.

I just hope, as their mother, that they can always find common ground and appreciate each other. We foster this relationship by pointing out that having a brother is like having a best friend for your whole life.  Whether they always feel like best friends is yet to be seen, but for now I loved seeing them give each other a huge hug this evening and in the spirit of their much-loved book, “Guess How Much I Love You,” hear Hugo tell his big brother “I love you outside the universe and back,” and hear Jasper respond, “I love you outside the universe and back too.”

 

 

 

Mother Pain

What a title, right? Oh, but I felt it today, and it’s so real. I’ve felt it before, but it keeps changing. Basically, I think that after the pain of childbirth, “mother pain” becomes whatever pain your child might be feeling, magnified inside you, the mother, one hundred times more. When kids are really tiny you feel the pain of their cries when they are uncomfortable and you don’t know why, or when they are toddling along and fall and get hurt. You want to take that pain away from them. Now I know that as they get older and can explain things to you and don’t really fall and get hurt so much, that their pain is often emotional. And the last thing you want is to see your sweet little child feel that kind of pain, because that kind of pain takes away little bits of their innocence.

 

My oldest son is very, very sensitive. He is self-conscious and moody and hard on himself. I’ve seen him in mental pain from early ages because he is a perfectionist. If he can’t get something right he just loses it. He’s torn up drawings and said he hates reading, his bike, the piano, and everything else he hasn’t mastered the first time he’s tried. It’s a difficult trait and one I still struggle with to handle as delicately and helpfully as I can. But today I saw him in a different kind of pain. He’s the kind of kid who makes friends slowly and carefully and doesn’t just bond with everyone. He can count on one hand the kids he views as his close friends, his little posse. And one member of that posse is moving away.

 

Up until now I wasn’t sure how he was handling it because he would say in an offhand way that their moving adventure, “sounds fun.” But he and his friend have been constant companions for several years. He has grown accustomed to seeing his dear posse of friends regularly, and counts on them being available to play on an almost daily basis. When the weather is nice he can count on running around with these friends after school. But that is changing. Recently, on sunny days after school, the crowd thins pretty quickly. The friends are unavailable to play for various reasons—they are busy packing or are sick or have some other commitments. This is normal, this is life. But, it is incomprehensible to a child who likes his routine.

 

After school today my son ran around with some classmates for a few minutes. Then, suddenly, everyone was gone. The usual posse was not available and even the acquaintances just weren’t around. My son suddenly said he didn’t feel well and wanted to go home. He got weepy, but when I asked what was wrong he wouldn’t talk. Then I asked if he missed his friends and he just broke down, crying that everyone used to play after school on the pretty days and they don’t any more and he doesn’t see his friends as much and his grief just sank to the depths of his soul as he cried. I could feel the loneliness seeping out of his pores and there he was: the loneliest, saddest boy in the whole world. It was gut wrenching, and as sad as he was, I felt like my heart had just been wrenched from my chest and smashed in to the ground. I could explain that sometimes your best buddies just aren’t available, but it’s hard to explain that from time to time, one of those friends might move away and you won’t see them regularly any more and it’s part of life. I know he knows his friend is leaving and I know he is beginning to realize that he will experience the sadness and loneliness of missing someone for a long time to come.

 

I know this is all part of growing up. There is no way to shield a child from the sorrows of life, and I don’t even think it would be good if we could because we will have to send them out in to the world some day and they need to develop skills to survive there. But children are so beautiful in their innocence and every experience, painful or positive, that takes away that innocence and leads them one step closer to being a regular person with baggage, is hard to bear.

 

I also learned today that I am DOOMED regarding all the mother pain I will be feeling in the years to come. Having a friend move away is sad, but that is just one of the many sorrowful experiences my children will have until they one day can relate to their mature peers about all the difficulties in life, learned by experience, that I can talk about with my peers.

 

As it was today we returned home and decided to bake a new kind of cookie to cheer us up. Then my boys and I played baseball in the yard, followed by a game of tag. When we finished, my oldest son hugged me and said, “I had a nice day, did you?” I was touched that he could say that after how deeply sad he’d been only a couple hours earlier. I had to agree with him, it was a nice day, in the end. We had a good talk about what made him sad. We found ways to make some fun for ourselves, and we got to eat some tasty new cookies. I hope we can weather the next storm so well.

Paradise Lost

Not so long ago I wrote a post singing the accolades of living in my idyllic town and feeling like part of a real community. Did I mention the weeping willows in that post? I can’t quite remember. There are lots of weeping willows in my town, and on my son’s first day of kindergarten they were all swaying to a gentle breeze next to the creek on our walk to school in balmy, 70 degree weather. I was so excited on that day to send my child to a small neighborhood school where he would meet kids that live only a few blocks away from us. I looked forward to extending my already wonderful social group by meeting my son’s classmates’ parents.  Did I talk about how I never feel lonely in that post? About how I run into friends and neighbors everywhere from the grocery store to the gym? Did I mention how friendly everyone is? How important it is to remember everyone’s name the first time you meet them because they will surely remember yours the next time you meet? Did I talk about how it’s nice to live somewhere with a slow-ish pace, not too much “keeping up with the Joneses” activity?  

But, change is inevitable. Isn’t there a saying that the only thing you can count on is change? Of course, change can be good. I often embrace change, and on many occasions I have instigated change. Change is what I know. Throughout my life I have moved homes or cities or states or left the country altogether every five or fewer years. I’ve never kept a job for more than a couple years (yikes!). I don’t really have “roots” anywhere, though I’ve thought on a few occasions that I might sink some. Parenthood has changed that for me though.  

Now that I am married with kids I want to give my kids a life I always thought would be so secure and wonderful. I want them to grow up in a town seeing the same kids grow up with them. I want them to feel connected to a community and surrounded by the love of friends and extended family.

Lately I have been feeling my fantasy crumbling away a little. Oh, the willow trees are still here, and they are growing delicate little green leaves now after a short but still chillier-than-I’d-like Maryland winter. Jasper still goes to his cute school on the hill. But I have recently been made to realize that even if I manage to not have MY life change, I can’t control the lives of others. Dear friends of ours here are moving away for a year or two, and I feel as though I have been hit by a truck. What do you mean you are moving away because of a job? As though I can ask such a question after being forced to move from our last beloved home for lack of a job (and know a job could force us to move again some day). I realize my little fantasy requires more than just me staying put, to keep it together I need everyone around me to stay put too, or our little community is vulnerable to dissolution. 

I have also noticed that the parents at my son’s adorable school are not so terribly friendly. They seem entirely different from everyone I met before who, after I met them once, would be sure to honk their horn and call my name as they drove by. No, the parents at my son’s school, inexplicably, don’t say hello even after numerous meetings. There is one woman with whom I have worked on a project who would not look my way and say hello when we were literally the only two people in a field walking toward each other, close enough to hold hands. I found myself awkwardly looking up and smiling, trying to catch her eye, and only after 5 or 6 attempts did I realize that she was not planning to look my way. That’s okay, I thought generously, she must have some shyness disorder that makes her break into hives when talking to people socially. My theory was disproved when I saw her hugging and laughing with other parents–many other parents–at pick-up time at school.  

Well, maybe it’s just her I think. But no, my son’s teacher won’t talk to me either (see earlier post). “She doesn’t like parents,” I am told. I feel alright with this comment until I see her chatting freely with a few other parents and even really hyucking it up with parents that had older children go through her classes. Again and again I introduce myself to other parents while our kids play outside after school or after I meet them at a few functions. Again and again they walk by without saying, “hello.” My favorite example (how can I pick a favorite example, you ask, when there are so many?) is when I walk my son to school and pass by 3 other moms from my school who have already dropped off their children. Two are acquaintances that definitely know my name and one is someone I know well. One of the acquaintances gives me a weak smile, one never even looks at me and the one that I know well gives me a nod or grunt, depending on her mood. 

Do I smell, I think? Do I just give off bad vibes? Finally it dawns on me. These people are not new to this town. Many of them are not new to this school because they have older kids. These people are not open. These people are cliquey! Ugh, why does my perfect little school in my perfect little town have to have cliquey parents? What’s the point of going to a neighborhood school if no one in the neighborhood will talk to you? 

I had lunch with a friend today and I vented endlessly about my anxieties and we also commiserated how it’s gotten harder to get together with all the people in our community due to growing children and busier and incompatible schedules. Venting felt good, chatting over lunch felt good and my spirits were lifted. I gathered my younger son into the car and we started the drive home and, what was that smell? Then I remembered that I didn’t put on deoderent this morning and the shirt I was wearing doesn’t breathe at all. I had to laugh. I thought that maybe it’s all because I really do smell after all! I

 hope this is just a bad phase and that like most cycles in nature and life a new one will swing up again and restore my contentment in this town. I truly hope so. Maybe that is all part of living in one place and sinking the roots–you go through the good and bad phases and wait them out. I will work on the things I can change. I can continue to be friendly and get involved in things. I can decide I don’t care about cliquey people. And I will definitely make sure I don’t forget my deoderent again, just in case!