Role Reversal

The other day we found ourselves, as a family, making paper airplanes. This happens fairly regularly since both Jasper and Hugo LOVE to make paper airplanes. The big difference this time though was that we were not at home. We were visiting grandma and grandpa and we did not have our Klutz paper-airplane making guide with us. I was totally at a loss since I am just great at following step-by-step directions but don’t remember how to make any of the airplanes from memory. I was preparing to have to let everyone down by saying that without the book we might not be able to make airplanes that actually fly, when I looked down to see Jasper expertly creasing the wings, and then adding little “elevators” to his creation when he was done. It looked great. “What is that?” I asked him. He said, “The Hammer” in an offhand way and sent his airplane sailing. Before long he was helping Hugo, Jim and me make the Pteroplane, the Space Cruiser and the Professional, and he only seemed a little irritated when we couldn’t get the folds right.

When did this happen? I had no idea he’d memorized all the airplanes in the book. I guess maybe I’d realized he’d been able to follow the directions on his own for a while, but it seems like just yesterday that we got the book and I had to do all the work and he was barely able to fold the paper correctly even under my instruction.

I’m sure there will be many more moments like this, when things seem to just be plugging along without any major changes, and then we get taken by surprise. I’ve already grown accustomed to deferring to Jasper’s expertise when wanting to identify a bird or mushroom or tree, or, if I’m trying to figure out something like how long ago modern humans showed up on Earth. Of course I’m mom and for years to come I’ll be dispensing information and advice in many, if not most, areas. But I know these moments of role reversal, when I will be seeking the expertise or know-how of my children, will become more common.

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.

And They Are Who They Are

Before I had kids I would have told people that I’d have no problem with any kind of child I had: outgoing or shy, athletic or artistic, straight or gay. I enjoy all kinds of people and always have, as long as they mean well and are kind. I felt that I could accept any kid I got, and then help instill the values that my husband and I find important: being kind and honest, open-minded, hard working, and generous, etc. I figured that the reason some parents struggled with they way their child is was because they had rigid hopes for the child that didn’t necessarily fit with the child’s interests, for example, they would only be happy with a child who wanted to become a doctor or lawyer and captain of a varsity sports team. You get the idea. And I knew that would never be me.

And it isn’t me…not really. My kids are very different from one another and I truly am amused, amazed, and delighted by them just for being who they are. But, I worry more about Jasper probably more than I ever will about Hugo, because I realize that his experience being a person that is a little different might be harder for him. I thoroughly appreciate him, that’s not it. What other child, upon hearing I brought home a DVD on the history of government, squeals with glee and wants to leave the dinner table to watch it right now? I love that about him. He just can’t get enough knowledge, and now I pretty much have to google every question he asks me because I don’t know the answers. But, although his lofty intellect far exceeds his years, his social skills do not. I cringe on the playground when he walks around by himself and doesn’t approach other kids. He does have friends, but he does much better with them one-on-one. If there is a group, he doesn’t know what to do. If a friend he usually plays with plays with someone else, he won’t go over to them. He just doesn’t know how. I see how painful this can be for him and my heart aches, and I find myself secretly wishing he were just a little different. Why can’t he be more outgoing? Why can’t he be more comfortable around other people or in groups?

I get angry at myself for having those thoughts. But I do see what a much easier time his little brother has. He’s not shy. If he wants something, let’s say a snack or a chance to try out a skateboard, he will march over to boys five or six years older and a foot taller than he is and ask them. His interests overlap with other boys’: ball sports, roughhousing and race cars, so it’s easy for him to find someone to play with. Fitting in, for him, is just never a problem. I remind myself that it’s my job to parent the kids I have, and that they do not enter the world fully formed. Everyone has challenges, and my task is to help my children navigate their way in the world and to give them tools to face their challenges.

As I walked my son to school this morning and he talked about his difficulty on the playground, I told him that lots of people feel shy. We talked about ways to start conversations, and how it’s just nice to say hello. After school we stayed to play at the playground to take advantage of the beautiful weather.  I saw Jasper wander around alone for a while. He didn’t go near any other kids and my heart just sank. An unfortunate mother on the playground got an earful from me as I unburdened my soul to her about how I worry about him. But then, Jasper found his friend, Hannah, and they played off to the side together. Then I noticed another shy boy see them and run across the field to hide behind a tree to watch them. In this moment I saw another painfully shy kid with no idea how to approach two other children he knew he liked to play with. I thought, here is a teaching moment! I need to tell Jasper to invite that boy to play. But, before I ever made a move I saw Jasper go over to him, and before long they were all playing together and soon after that a couple more kids joined in. Needless to say, I was overjoyed.

On the walk home Jasper told me that at the playground he saw someone behind the tree and he went to see who it was. He said that when he saw the other boy he said, “Hi Rowan, do you want to play with us?” And, sure enough, Rowan did. Jasper was so proud of himself, and so pleased with the positive result. I surged with pride then, just so happy that he tried out this new skill and that it worked. So tonight, I can rest a little easier knowing that we have made some progress on this hurdle, even though I know there are many more to come. 

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. 

Imagination

The other night we had friends to our house for dinner. They brought their two daughters, one of whom had just broken her leg a few days before while skiing. She was sporting an impressive cast on her leg, and was already developing some interesting new ways to get around such as pulling herself upstairs backward. Jasper and Hugo were impressed, and drew pictures and their names on her cast. After dinner, the kids disappeared upstairs and played and let us grown-ups eat in peace. The next morning I went into the upstairs play room to tidy up and noticed that each and every stuffed animal in the boys’ collection had a “cast” on it. The casts were made out of toilet paper and some extra chair stuffing I had lying around, and were secured on the animals with tape. Some of the animals were lying on cushions that had been pulled off the couch that were serving as hospitals beds. Arms and legs were splinted; one polar bear even had his nose wrapped! I just had to laugh.

I love the raw, powerful imaginations that kids have.  I love how those four children could immerse themselves in the same imaginary world and rescue all those poor, ailing animals. I’m sure child psychologists could comment on the compassion and empathy that the children were acting out in that scene.  I think I appreciated that moment even more because in this day and age, so many people are lamenting that children no longer have enough free time to play, and that when they do have free time they just want to watch TV or play video games. I am thrilled to know that in my little corner of the world anyway, the child’s imagination is alive and well!

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.”

 

 

 

Growing Up

One of the joys and of course, heartbreaks, of having kids is watching them grow up. It makes me sad that my youngest child is rapidly leaving babyhood behind (he’s almost four)! And today, Jasper wanted to sit on my lap to read a story. He is almost seven, and still very snuggly, but for whatever reason today he just seemed huge. He was heavy, and his body, as I was pulling him on to my lap, felt so thick. I looked down at his hands and was shocked by the long fingers, the fingernails that are almost as big as mine, and by how strong and thick his hands seemed. The skin was even a little rough. I wrapped my arms around his bigger-than-I-remember chest and attempted to peer over, and then around, his head to read the story. It must have been a comical sight, because I felt like I had someone the size of myself on my lap. I probably squeezed him just a little too tight right then, trying to really drink in the moment, just because I still could.

One aspect of them getting a bit older though is that there is more that you can share with them on a higher level. The knowing glances I might exchange with Jim or a friend when I know they are thinking the same thing as me in a social situation or when I know they will find something funny, I can now share with Jasper.

Jim has been traveling so the other day Jasper, Hugo and I were eating dinner together. Hugo said, “mommy, after dinner can we wrestle?” I replied, “oh honey, mommy doesn’t really wrestle, but if you want we can snuggle after dinner.” He thought about that and said, “okay, we can snuggle and then maybe snuggle-wrestle.” Jasper looked very amused and said, “Hugo, what is snuggle-wrestle?” and Hugo answered, “when you snuggle rough!” Right after which point he hopped up on the chair behind me and grabbed my shoulders and started yanking them back and forth. It was so sudden and silly and unexpected that Jasper and I just looked at each other and burst out laughing. We laughed and laughed and Hugo just kept yanking my shoulders, laughing too. Jasper was giggling so hard that he could hardly breathe and every now and again would squeak out a “snuggle rough! Ha, ha, ha, ha,” and I had tears in my eyes unable to stop giggling and to stop Hugo from shaking my shoulders. Then, Hugo lost his balance and plummeted to the floor and landed with a huge THUD. Jasper and I glanced down at him, and it was clear he wasn’t hurt and we burst out laughing again. Hugo, who is practically made of bricks, enjoyed how entertaining he was obviously being and started laughing again too.

I thoroughly enjoyed just cracking up like that with my kids, but also really enjoyed how although we were all laughing together, Jasper and I were able to share how funny we thought Hugo was. Hugo is a really funny little kid. He is expressive and enthusiastic and earnest, and is at a stage where he is constantly misusing language and trying to sound authoritative. For adults, he can be just hilarious to be around, but I love how more and more, Jasper appreciates and gets a kick out of his little brother just the way his father and I do.

 

I feel a little sad every time I trade their clothes or shoes for the next size up, and sometimes I miss having a little baby to hold, but I am also really looking forward to seeing what kind of people they turn into as they grow up and have our bonds evolve from hands-on care to intellectual connections.  

Boys, again

I know I’ve written about having boys in the past, but it continues to be a source of fascination and confusion for me to be mother to two of them. One of the most difficult realizations I have had to make is that when I am watching a group of boys in action, I am utterly at a loss of how to interpret what I see. What I think I see is a group of mean, wild animals. I see two boys grab another boy, whip him around and fling him down. I see that boy (perhaps my son) get up fiercely and grab one of the perpetrators and spin him and toss him to the ground. I see those same boys chase another and tackle him to the ground. “How horrible!” I think. I must intervene. They must be miserable and someone is sure to get hurt! But then, just as I feel confident that I have assessed the situation accurately and that someone must intervene, I see all the boys involved laughing, and then my son, who I thought might be scarred for life by the mistreatment, literally skipping away with a big smile on his face. I listen to friends with older boys say, “oh, I don’t get involved unless there’s blood.”

“Okay,” I think. “I didn’t really read that situation correctly. I guess they like playing that way, I guess that’s their idea of fun.” The next time I see similar play I feign a laid-back attitude. “Oh sure,” I tell myself, “that’s just the way boys play, they love this kind of thing.” I stand back and smile as I watch the boys pounce on each other. But wait! There’s a boy crying, he got hurt. “I want to go home!” I hear him shriek. Once again, I got it wrong. I truly never, ever know whether what I see when boys play is: a) really great; b)okay, but could turn ugly; or c) horrible and requires intervention right away.

It’s more challenging for me because even though my oldest, Jasper, is almost seven, I’ve really only see boys play like this for the last year or so. Prior to this, most of his playmates were girls. His basic nature is very calm, so watching him enter this world and interact with it fills me with trepidation. Deep down I don’t feel that he’s really equipped to deal with all the roughness, especially when so many of the boys are older than him, but it’s interesting to see that he more or less stands his ground. It’s also been interesting to observe that when things get really rough, he tends to go off on his own. This happened today, and when I saw him off, way off, playing by himself, I went over to him, sure he would be upset and wanting to go home. When he saw me he said, “we don’t have to go home now, do we?” “No,” I tried to say casually. “Because I’m having fun and don’t want to go yet.” I wasn’t prepared for what he said, but didn’t want him to know what I had been thinking because I didn’t want to influence the situation. He told me that two boys tried to throw him in the bushes, and two tried to defend him. He said that one kid in particular is always mean. We discussed various possible ways of handling the situation. He didn’t really seem upset though, just content to play on his own for a while. I was sad that although there was a big group of kids playing together, he was alone. I was worried that maybe he wasn’t fitting in. My husband had a different take on it—he thinks it’s great that Jasper isn’t willing to be anyone’s punching bag. If it gets too mean or he’s the target of the cruelty, he would rather go off by himself.

I can appreciate his reasoning, but I do still wonder if he’s “fitting in” in the boy world. I wonder if he’s as tough as he needs to be. Honestly, I can’t, by observing, tell whether he is or not.

I know I won’t worry about Hugo as much. He’s almost four and seems to instinctively love the rough and tumble play. He always leaps on top of the boy pile, even if the kids are four or five years older than him. He has a high tolerance for pain and doesn’t seem to take things personally. I know I’ll be more used to this kind of play as he gets older too.

It always makes me wonder though, as the kids get older, will it be more of the same? I think of how girls have deep friendships and share their feelings. I see how Jasper has deep friendships with his female friends. I have never understood male friendships, but it sort of seems like they hang out and do activities and beat on each other, and then, over time, decide who the “good guys” are that they really like and trust. I will never be part of that world, but I do hope that over time I can watch them interact, and understand a little more about what I’m seeing. Maybe I would get a little more sleep. 

A Blip In Time

I was having a chat with my parents the other day about plastic surgery, and mostly about the horror of poorly done face-lifts or people that have had too many, and consequently look like scary wax statues from a creep show and not like real people any more. I was trying to not be overly judgmental since I’m not yet forty and don’t know how I’ll feel about all this 20 years down the line and try to avoid being a possible hypocrite in the future by condemning something that I don’t know how I’ll feel about then. I said to my parents, “well, I don’t know how I will feel since I’m still sort of youngish” to which they instantaneously responded, rather fiercely, “you’re not even 40! You’re very young! If you live to be 95, 40 is very young!” I will admit, a flash of what I might possibly look like after aging another 55 years did pass in front of my eyes (and a face lift, even a bad one, didn’t seem like such a bad option), but more, I thought about all that time I potentially have left in life to live, and, of course, work. And this brings me back to a frequent obsession of mine, which is, will I ever be able to re-enter the work force? This concern just paralyzes me sometimes, and often because I think of graphic design as such a young, hip, field. I feel that approaching 40 almost guarantees a degree of obsolescence in the field, and that maybe I should go hang out with 40-year old Hollywood actresses that can’t get work any more or can only get roles being cast as Keira Knightly’s mother or a bitter old alcoholic nun.

However, my husband keeps pointing out that in less than two years I will have a LOT more time, and consequently will be able to work more, or work on building a business, and it’s really, really unlikely that nothing would ever happen on that front. It seems really unlikely that I will sit there for 53 years or so without being able to find any interesting employment whatsoever. Even older people, who often own companies, need graphic designers. And they may actually prefer working with someone who can spell because I have not spent my youth TM-ing people and does not have a nose ring or my parents negotiating my hourly rate for me.

I am realizing what a blip all this is, having children that are really young. Jasper, at almost 7, is starting to exit the “really young” phase and in a few years Hugo will be almost 7 too, and although we will still be parents until our time on Earth is done, we will not have “really little” kids ever again. So, I will try to live in the present (I try this every so often) and enjoy my little kids and the time I have with them. In a couple years I hope that I can resume my career, or perhaps one day even switch to a new one. The time I spent minimally employed will be hard to remember 5, 10 or 45 years down the road. I won’t regret the time I spent with my kids way back when, though I wonder if I will be reminiscing about these years with an oddly waxen expression on my face.