To Tie the Tubes

So while we're on the subject of age, I might mention that one gets to the point when she knows she will not have any more children and is presented with the issue of what to do about it. I mention this simply because I thought I had reached that point over the summer. 8 kids under 12 staying under one roof will do that to a lady, and I left Connecticut determined to get these dang tubes tied...and fast.

Now I love my girls and all, but I was never a big baby person. Generally I have no need to hold someone else's baby, I'm maternal and all, but it's not just oozing out of me. Give me a 3 year old any day of the week and I'd be happy. But babies? No thanks. It's possible that I wasn't born this way. My parents were just here for a visit and brought stacks of photos from my childhood for me to grow nostalgic over and for Elliot to laugh at. What I noticed from the photos was that I either had a baby doll or a dog in all of the pictures. It was easy to see what I would become. I was destined to be a dog loving mother and teacher, but I seemed to like babies a whole lot more then than I do now.

But people ask me, and often, if we are planning on having any more kids. To give them a general idea, I usually respond with, "Elliot would rather chop his penis off than have any more children." Way to cut 'em off at the pass. It's not even up for discussion. All embarrassment aside, I've done it. I've had all the kids I'm gonna have, and I'm grateful each day for these girls, because it was not an easy road to get them here safely. But I think my initial motherhood experience with TWO babies was so stressful, it sort of turned me off of babies altogether. So the decision to not have any more kids was straight forward...sort of. Now jump in anytime here to tell me how crazy I am, but it's not the actual kids that make me wistful, it's the idea of that time in my life being past. I'm the experienced mother now, the one who knows what I'm doing. The one who younger mothers call to find out how much Tylenol to give or what to do about teething or tantrums. So there. I said it. I just can't get over the feeling that my ship has sailed, and it's a little tough to accept.

And it's only now that I am cognizant of how much I enjoy the new phase we are in. No diapers, no cribs, still screaming and the occasional tantrum, but in general life has become less "Management" and more living. So given all of these factors, why should I care? We have finally reached the point I had dreamed about for many strenuous years of early childhood when you'd turn your back for two seconds and the twins would be hanging from the dining room chandelier or something. So with this new phase comes some relief. I didn't cry when we took the crib apart, and I happily sent my Maclaren double stroller, which was once an appendage for me, to China to be used in an Orphanage.

But I can see how my new puppy who joined our family this year, became sort of, er, my baby. I think in a way, I still had some nurturing left in me as this little guy, while a complete pest, has been attached to me since May. But the thing is, I have begun to grasp the hard way that you just cannot do this with dogs. "I think you might be humanizing him a little bit," our dog trainer has said. Um, affirmative. I get it, but something in me just couldn't help it. I began to realize my further need to nurture this summer when I had some girls over while Elliot was away one night. They are chatting and drinking wine and one of them took this photo....




Ok one pic says it all, this was not normal. I could have been socializing with all of my buddies and there I was, practically breast feeding the dog in the corner. But who could help it? A dog doesn't talk back, or tell you he doesn't like your cooking, or get pissed when you try to tell him what to wear. So I think I've gotten to the heart of my issue. This past week after dinner I was trying to get some work done and Elliot comes in to where the computer is and asks "Have you seen 'Dumb and Dumber'?" and I replied with, "I dunno, I told them to get in bed 20 minutes ago..." It never occured to me that he was asking about the dogs not Sumner and Marshall. Now I know it sounds mean of me, I really am the most loving of mothers, but if you knew these girls you would see why I might have thought he was talking about them. They seem to get into the most trouble and do the wildest, stupidest things right around bedtime. Oops...

So before I get even more complainey, I will say that all of this family stuff is the toughest thing we do. It's exhausting and exhilarating and maddening and joyful. There are some days when I embrace it, and days when all I want to do is retreat from it. It's so funny because before we had kids, or when we were thinking about having kids, all I wanted was to see Elliot and me with a baby. Then we have two babies and all I wanted was to get him alone without a baby. Go figure.

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus...

Do any other parents get especially paranoid about the truth at this time of year? Yes, shield your computer screens, I mean the big S word....It is just barely December and I find myself already getting nervous about Santa Claus questions, or some grown up letting the cat out of the bag. Now this may be because I am a terrible liar, and when my kids ask me straight up about something, I generally try to tell them the truth. But when it comes to Christmas, I just can't give it up.

Now bear in mind, all of this is coming from someone who was a believer until 6th grade. This blows Elliot's mind, but I'm not kidding you, and I think that's the reason why I now take it a little to the extreme. the lengths I go to to protect them and keep Christmas magical for one more year are a little nuts. I haven't read my girls the book, The Polar Express, because I am so afraid of suggesting the possibility that some people, even children may not believe. I consistently change the radio when the song "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" comes on, as I : A.) Don't want my clever little darlings to figure out that Mommy is actually kissing Daddy who IS Santa, and B.) That pretending to be Santa might make people...um, horny. That said, Elliot and I do have so much fun sneaking around, and he generally catches me sometime on Christmas Eve with the raise of one eyebrow and asks if Santa can get his bells jingled...But still, filling the stockings, hiding the gifts, and we even have made a game out of that dad gum Elf on the Shelf. Last year it became a competition of which one of us could get to the Andrew our Elf first and put him in the most precarious position. Andrew riding piggyback on a Byers Caroler or getting it from behind from the reindeer are among my favorites.

But seriously, I do think that the jig is going to shortly be up at our house... and not because of Sumner and Marshall. My money is on CeCe putting two and two together and blabbing it all over the neighborhood. I have had a lot going on lately and Elliot knows how much I love Christmastime, so on Saturday we got up and announced we were going to drive to the mountains and cut our own Christmas tree. The twins were thrilled, couldn't wait...like normal children. We were all so excited, until CeCe, our resident Debbie Downer walks in the kitchen and corners me, "Don't you think it's a little early to get the tree, I mean, it's going to die by Christmas." Well that was a showstopper...

So we didn't go. I know, she's the strangest 5 year old in the world and was able to kill the mood for the rest of us with one sentence. I was all but convinced SHE was going to try to sit ME down over the weekend and break it to me that there's no Santa. So for the rest of the weekend whenever we were out and saw a happy family with a Christmas tree strapped to the top of their car one of us would say, "CeCe, do you think we need to pull them over? Shouldn't we make a citizen's arrest for getting into the holiday spirit just a little too soon?" And this didn't even phase her, she stuck to her guns.

So Elliot decides to cheer the rest of us up with a trip to Michael's for some decorations. Sweet guy that he is,this was the place he would least like to go ANY day of the week. But he dragged us all out so we could ad least get decorations for the outside of the house. "I want wreaths on the windows," he declared in the car, faking it just for me. So we get out and are approaching the store when one of us says, "Oooh CeCe, they've go the wreaths outside, shouldn't we tell them they're being a bit hasty?" And she looks up at me, dead serious and says, "I dunno, let me go check if they're real or fake wreaths," Pronouncing it REEVES, then REEFS, REEZES and then asking herself,"Why can't I say that word?" as she shuffles over the the display. I can say I have never been so pissed off and amused at the same time as I was during this whole exchange. I just can't get over how darn realistic she is, which is why I again venture to say she'll be the one to figure us out.

She's just so maddeningly logical. We bought some soup for her over the weekend and I made it and heard her alone at the table talking to herself, "This is really more of a noodle bowl, and it doesn't even have the baby corns in it like it did in the picture." Well pardon me, let's sue Trader Joes for false advertising, the miso soup is more of a noodle dish minus the baby corns.

Later that day, at my request to get her out of the house, Elliot had her out on the golf course. When he asked CeCe to pass him a golf ball. She throws it from the cart and encouraging Dad that he is, he praises her, "Nice throw!" CeCe responds not with a thank you but by saying to herself, "It was really more of a toss." Are you getting the idea?

But I truly don't think I have done this to her, she was ALWAYS this way. Our resident self-proclaimed expert on everything...and she's actually right most of the time. You just can't get anything past this kid. When she broke her leg and was in traction in the hospital doped up on morphine it was the weekend Obama was inaugurated. She was laying in her hospital bed, just barely 4 years old and two nurses came in talking about the inauguration when CeCe opens her eyes, turns her head and states, "My entire family voted for McCain." Dead silence.

So we are on Santa lock down around here to protect little Miss Smartypants for just a precious while longer, because once she knows, I have a feeling she will manage many more mood killing comments. As for Christmas songs, be careful what you sing around us...and don't be asking me what the girls are getting for Christmas because I am so paranoid about what is from us and what will be from Santa...because it's just too magical to still be a believer...

Earthy Girls are Easy

So I get an email from my Dad after my last post that said (and this is verbatim) "So proud of you Carol, but your language does scare your Mom." Sorry Mom, can't totally control it at times. Am I offending anyone else out there? She had better not read this post because it is a bit of a doozie when it comes to personal details. But after the Weight Watchers one I figured I have nothing left to hide. Yesterday on the phone my Mom said, "You're not going to write about your colonoscopy are you?" Sorry Mom, you bet your ass I am (couldn't resist that one.) "You girls are just so earthy" she'll say whenever we discuss something body related. Well, I'm not going to discuss any specific details, but more the whole idea of it I suppose.

I know it is sort of a generational thing, but my friends and I talk about earthy/body stuff all of the time. We all go through all of these changes, especially after we have kids, why not just be open about it? I got an email yesterday from one sweet friend who is usually such a lady that said, "How's your butt?" But I feel fairly sure this is one issue about which Elliot and my Mom are on the same page. He gets just as mortified as she does about "Body talk". But he'd better get used to it in a house full of girls. He did put normal squeamishness aside on my colon cleanse day when he got annoyed with me about something and said, "Oh just go upstairs and drink your poop drink..." That's a gentleman for ya, it's nice to see we all let our "Earthiness" get the best of us at times.

For me, the preparation for the whole thing was 24 hours in which I realized my desperate need for snacks and coffee. Luxuries I could only appreciate once they were denied. Elliot came home from taking the girls out for dinner the night I was fasting and, like any man, began to describe in detail all of the changes that had been made to the menu at the restaurant where they had eaten, "The new fries were awesome, and Marshall had a burger..." I asked him to please stop, I hadn't eaten in 24 hours and really couldn't talk about food and we changed the subject. But somehow it drifted back to the menu and the grilled salmon that he knows I would LOVE. I finally had to remove myself and my growling stomach and go to bed...hungry.

So all details aside, I know in old posts I talked about "me" time and the modern mom's lack there of; but I realized this week lack of "me" time can make us that much more creative or adaptable. So if you have had a colonoscopy, you know that it's at least a 24 hour process to get ready for it, and I had to spend one afternoon/evening alone in my bedroom, which NEVER happens. I shouldn't have started this by complaining because it really wasn't that bad. Our sitter Lizzie had the girls in the afternoon and I had to explain to her what I was doing so she wouldn't wonder what was happening up there when she heard the toilet flush 50 times in one afternoon. You have to be ready to roll with the punches in order to be our babysitter and Lizzie always does. You also need not be easily grossed out...So I went upstairs to drink the "cleansing solution" that everyone had warned was so atrocious. But here's the thing, I was really looking forward to going up to my bedroom, closing the door, and having a legitimate reason why I got to stay in there and not be interrupted all afternoon. Can you actually imagine someone looking forward to the colon cleanse? But I'll admit it, I was. So what's 2 or 3 hours on the toilet mixed in with a little alone time in my bedroom? It didn't really bother me at all. It was kind of like when I was pregnant and everyone warned me about how awful the orange drink was that you had do have when you took the Gestational Diabetes test and then I actually really liked it. Did it not taste like Sunkist to anyone else? YUM. So I'll admit it, I enjoyed the Sunkist drink, and I enjoyed the colon cleanse, simply because I only had to focus on me (not because I am some kind of fecal freak of something...)

As I was enjoying my alone time/colon cleanse, I started thinking about the summer I was pregnant with the twins and My sister Tracy and her husband were taking a much needed trip to Europe sans kids. "I'm just looking forward to the flight." She said, and I totally didn't get it. Excuse me? Who looks forward to 10 hours crammed in coach overnight from New York to Rome? I would just be counting the hours until it was over. But now I can relate. Uninterrupted time where there really isn't the option of doing anything else- errands, laundry, carpool, is so very hard to come by.

The other fun part of the procedure was that my friend Tracy, who was sweet enough to take me, picked me up and we had a solid hour to talk and catch up in the car before we got there. When they took me back all of the nurses were so sweet, I mean, I don't ever remember when someone has been that nice to me, "Mrs. Broadfoot, your feet are a little cold, let me get you an extra warm blanket," My nurse Debbie remarked coming back seconds later to tuck me in. "Would you like a magazine? You look a little tired, I'll just turn the lights off for you while you wait for the anesthesiologist." I was laying there in disbelief wondering if I was on Candid Camera or something because I was so unaccustomed to anyone waiting on me like that.

After it was all over, Tracy and I went to breakfast and stuffed ourselves while we chatted over coffee. She drove me home and as I got out of the car I said, "This was so much fun, I really needed this..." Um, was this the dreaded colonoscopy I had just gone to? I was treating it as if we had just come back from a day at the spa. We acknowledged how silly that was and then she said, "I know, call me for your next procedure..."

I was actually pretty proud of myself for taking something that most every adult dreads and focusing on the positive. Who cares if I'm earthy, I'd rather just be honest about it so that maybe someone who's listening won't dread their colonoscopy so much. But here's the thing about the demands and intensity of parenting, it makes you so much tougher and flexible at the same time. You have to be able to just roll with it or you would go nuts. I thought about this when I was going into the procedure and they were putting in my IV. When the nurse apologized for the pinch I said, "I have 3 kids, this is nothing." And it's so very true. I will spare you any more details, but for this earthy girl, being honest about it all just makes it that much more easy.

So for today's pic, let's focus on someone other than me, because I have already put waAAAY too much out there. Here was my view of CeCe eating her lunch post play in the snow today. She stripped out of her pants down to footless tights, and it was too cute not to photograph...

Do you have running water?

I had a friend approach me recently and ask how I was doing everything I have on my schedule right now: being a wife, having 3 kids, teaching school, graduate school...not to mention all the little extras like trying to maintain friendships (I am famous for not keeping in touch and forgetting to call back), keeping a moderately clean house etc. I have come to a point where I know I have to sacrifice something and slow down a little, I just haven't figured out what yet.

I know where I get this, I am a lot like my mother. She is a determined self-starter (to say the least) who takes great pride in a job well done and rises to any challenge. I think back to a time when our old house was on the market and she woke up and decided the family room ceiling needed a coat of paint before the 2 o'clock showing. I have inherited these qualities, all for which I am grateful, because who do you want on your side when there's a problem? The can-do er of course...

But along with this comes another quality, one which I battle as I go through these busy days. I have trouble sitting down. If you have been reading, this has been part of my New Year's Resolution, and I have maybe shown a little bit of improvement, but not much...it's harder than you think. I have been making coffee in the afternoons after I get everyone home from school and trying to actually sit down and enjoy it while I hang out with the girls, but here's what happens, I sit down and scan the family room and see that one picture that needs to be moved a little to the left and next thing you know I am on a ladder with the hammer and CeCe is my assistant.

This is JUST like my Mom. One of the first times Elliot came home to my house and didn't know my family very well yet, he sat down next to me and said, "5 minutes ago your Mom was going to the kitchen to make waffles and now she's outside painting a shutter." I'm not kidding, this really happened. She will often describe herself as a "One-armed paper hanger" or say, "I was shot out of a cannon." It's never a good sign when she gets up, usually the morning of a party and announces she's going to "Kick it into high gear..." Look out...

So I am a lot like this, and proud of it, but at the request of the people who have to live with me and some of my friends who love me, I have been asked to slow down. Elliot knows not to say "Slow down," rather, smart man that he is he mentioned, "It seems like your wheels are spinning a little bit," diplomatic, right? Only a normal person would react happily to her husband's concern. Not this girl, I think I responded defensively with, "What do you mean? What am I not getting done?" Overachiever that I am, I may get defensive, but I also take gentle criticism to heart. I think I may be going too fast, I'll later admit.

I have always admired how Elliot's mom can spend the entire day in her nightgown doing all of her normal household stuff and make no apologies for it. She will get up, read the paper, and then declare it a "Flip-floppy day" and keep her PJs on till bedtime. I could never do this. I get a little nervous on weekends when the sun comes up and I don't have my exercise clothes on yet. I don't have to actually exercise, but at least if I'm dressed for it I have the best of intentions. Elliot's Mom can happily sit at the dinner table for 2 hours and not seem at all worried that the kitchen is a disaster. She will even leave the kitchen a mess and deal with it the next day. Call me anal retentive, but I couldn't sleep unless I know the kitchen is clean with the dishwasher ready to run...Oh how I wish I could do this, I think I would feel a lot calmer...

In the same conversation where Elliot's Mom told us that we needed 10 minutes of silence a day, she also informed us that she learned in a meditation class that every person needs a mantra. She says this over and over to herself, "This is the day the Lord has made..." The thing is, I have a mantra, but it has succeeded at pushing me in the other, less calm direction. In fact, my mantra has only made me more driven and determined to get things done.

So we can't blame all of my can-doing on my Mother, my mantra is also to blame. When I was pregnant with the twins, I had a home nurse service come to my house to instruct Elliot, my Mom and me about how to put a shunt in my own leg and administer my anti contraction medication. She arrived and sat down with us and began her standard questioning for home visits. Her first question for me was, "Do you have running water?" What? Excuse me? Holy S*#@ there are women out there doing this who don't have running water. I don't mean to sound ignorant, but I had been so focused on myself that I hadn't stopped to consider the women out there who might be trying to do the exact same thing I am, but without all of the luxuries a brat like me is so accustomed to: running water, or a roof over their heads, or even alone. So this became my mantra. Yes, it's strange, but it carried me through a terribly difficult and harrowing pregnancy, because I knew I was doing it under the very BEST of circumstances. So yes, I was determined that I could do it.

My mantra has helped me through some of the most difficult times, because I have resolved to try and do everything I can do with a generally sunny attitude. I'm not trying to make anyone feel bad here, and I'm not minimizing what we Moms, ANY Moms go through each day, but still. My life is pretty cushy, and any time I feel overwhelmed I remind myself of my mantra and the day the visiting nurse came. It's sort of like an I can do this pep talk reminding me to buck up and quit whining. I will admit, I have been accused at work and at home of being a bit of a whiner.

I do have my moments when the mantra fails me, though. The week I was in the hospital having CeCe (a week long endeavor, typical) it was the same week of the tsunami in December 2004. Every nurse who entered my room felt the need to tell me about the lady in the South Pacific who gave birth in a tree. At one point the door to my room wasn't even closed yet and I looked at Elliot between contractions and said, "If one more person tells me about the woman who did this in a tree...." I know , yes, I can be a bit of a whiner, but any woman after 48 hours of labor would have snapped too.

Even still, I realize how busy I seem now, but was reminded of how busy I used to be, but in a completely different way. I was cleaning out over the weekend and found this really pretty notebook on my nightstand that I had kept as a journal when we first moved into this house in 2005. These days, I am busy running around doing things, way back then,I was busy doing things, but chained to the house.

My first entry was this,
June 24, 2005

I have been meaning to do this for awhile

and that was it. My first journal entry and I had only been able to jot down less than 10 words. What was I so busy doing? I had no carpools to drive, I wasn't working yet, I wasn't in school, the kids didn't have any homework? What gives? Then the real kicker was, the next entry wasn't until over a year later on July 25 of that year, and this entry was,

Sumner smeared her poop on the wall again today and I am so upset I can't even write about it.

This is no joke. I was dying when I found this. I must have blocked it out or something because I had totally forgotten this had happened. So I guess that answers my question about what I was so busy doing. Cleaning, I guess. Oh my goodness, to have 3 kids in diapers again...thank goodness that's over.

So I must consider my mantra, and how life once was around here and rest easy that I don't have any poop smeared on the wall, at least not today, anyway...

So my pic of the day is one of Elliot and me from before we had any kids. We had our one "Baby" our dog Gussie, and were out for a walk.




Notice how many things I am trying to do in this picture and it pretty much sums up how unfun my multitasking can be. I have my purse, a coffee, and a doggie canteen I was convinced Gussie needed for the stroll, and I am walking the dog. Elliot has...em...his coffee. Don't you think a leisurely dog walk would be much more pleasant that way? It's funny how one photo can say it all... I mean, was the doggie canteen really necessary? I need to keep it simple, eliminate the unnecessary, and soldier on. I keep this photo on my fridge to remind myself just how unfun multitasking can be. So I just have to slooooow down, while still maintaining my can do attitude and try not to worry about the rest.

Going for Gold

I have to write about this before the two weeks is up. Is there anyone else out there for whom the Olympics bring a sense of...inferiority? I mean, I don't want to appear unpatriotic or anything, but there is something about watching these young Olympians that makes me feel so dadgum average.

I must say, my relationship with the games didn't start out so well, my parents went to the Los Angeles games in the summer of 1984 and when they came back it was ALL we heard about for EVER...I mean, I know it's the experience of a lifetime and everything, but still. Everything we talked about for the rest of the summer and subsequent year had something to do with the Olympics. We even had to look at their photo album of the trip in order to get our allowances.

Then in 2002 I was put to bed while pregnant with the twins, the whole figure skating pairs debacle happened and it was the ONLY thing on T.V. So my love-hate relationship with the Olympics has gone on for many years, and this year is no exception. I felt completely guilty last night as we switched back and forth from the Olympics to American Idol. I even caught my Mom cowering in the back of the family room, sneaking an episode of the Bachelor: On the Wings of Love off of Hulu on her computer.

We have been especially into the Vancouver games because our kids are so interested. "I think maybe I want to be an Olympian when I get older," one of them mused after watching a skiing event. Is it squelching their dreams to respond with, "Oh honey, there's no way you'll ever be in the Olympics." I mean, let's be realistic. It's never going to happen. But you can't tell your kid this right? So I responded diplomatically with a, "Hmmm wow, wouldn't that be exciting."

But imagine being the parent who says, "Yes! Go for it! Let's change your entire life to take a chance at the Olympic dream." You see famous Olympians of our time and the stories of their families, which almost always revolve around a devoted parent who remained as committed as their child was on the road to success. Early practices, tutors, private coaches, the whole deal. I struggle with once weekly ballet class, and summer swim team. I can't even fathom the kind of commitment it takes to produce an Olympian. How much of this is raw talent and how much is utter devotion? Is your kid a total dud if she wants to come home from school every day and play in the backyard?

The class I am taking this semester is on assessment of young children. We talked last night about assessment instruments aka, the tests done on these little guys to look for developmental delays, measure intelligence, vocabulary, and look for those who are gifted. The most interesting part of this conversation to me was that parents are often disappointed when told their child has scored in the 50th percentile, which, by definition is average. I can be happy with average, but put a number on it and I might feel differently. You never hear about anyone bragging that their child has scored in the 60th percentile on the Weschler Preschool and Primary Intelligence test. The only ones I ever hear about are "Off the charts" when truly, 60th percentile is a perfectly "Normal" way to be.

My kids don't have to be brilliant, or have a special gift, and I am totally happy for them to be "average kids." But Olympics make me feel a little like I shouldn't settle for 50th percentile. My parents are visiting this week and my Dad has said, "I'll watch any events that aren't scored" So we have stuck to the timed ski races and bobsled. I guess he prefers the black and white part of timed events. Either you get there fast enough or you don't.

When we had one of our daughters "tested" because we were concerned about her development, I was relieved and happy to know she was "Average." But what's with this word having such a stigma attached to it? When I looked it up in my thesaurus, the synonyms were: common, mediocre, moderate, intermediate. The more positive synonyms were: ordinary, regular, standard, mainstream, and I have to include my personal favorites: garden-variety, run-of-the-mill and dime-a-dozen. So how come this isn't OK? Am I a slacker to be OK with regular? Normal or typical are good, right? Well, they are fine with me until the Olympics come around and make me feel... well, ordinary.

It would be interesting to measure these Olympians on some other qualities like relationships, or book smarts to see if they've got the all around package. I found myself sort of annoyed this week when I found out that Lindsay Vonn is married. So not only is she gorgeous and hot and an Olympic medalist, she also has time for a relationship. The real kicker to me is that Apollo Ono managed to win Dancing With the Stars during his hiatus between Olympics. Where's MY special talent? I'm not like our friend Will who has an amazing gift for music, or my Dad who played college football. Most of the time I'm OK with this, except for when I watch the Olympics and wonder if I am just a slacker, or if it's acceptable to settle on average, or typical.

I think I have made up my mind, though. I came up with proof that average can be thrilling. I have a photo from the summer of 2008 (which I can't seem to find.) My daughters had just finished with their first swim meet, and stood in all their glory holding up their ribbons that say PARTICIPANT, and they're delighted, so that seems like an exceptional accomplishment. So here are my wonderfully average kids, enjoying a run-of-the mill ordinary summer afternoon swim meet, and that feels like success to me...

Beer Goggles...on myself

So a friend pointed out after my last post that writing is my special purpose, she even resorted to calling me a shithead because I am such a moron that I didn't really think of this as a talent. My blog began with my making the effort to document what was going on with the girls. But once I started writing it, it took on a life of its own and became this cathartic outlet for me, not so much a sweet little memoir for them to read eventually.

But the thing is, it's easy to be honest and put it all out there when you don't know who or how many people are reading it. I had thought of it as a way to document life as a family until the same friend from High School wrote a response to a post that stuck with me. This is what she said, "I'm usually not a fan of 'All about me' blogs, but yours is exceptional." So a normal person would take this as a compliment, right? However, typical me, I could only focus on what I saw as the negative... how annoying does an, "All About Me" blog for a 36 year old sound? I mean, if you met someone and they told you to read their "All About Me" blog, what would you think? Uuggh, nothing like self promotion...but I guess mine is a little that way; OK, enough about you, let's talk about me....

So I started going back and looking at my recent posts, a task almost as painful as seeing how much you weigh, or what you look like in a magnifier without makeup...but when I did this I saw that my family journal type thing morphed quickly into just what she had said, an "All About Me" blog... Uh oh, that's not what I had intended, but I couldn't help it. When you're a Mother, it so rarely is "All About Me" that this seems to be my only arena, God help us... so to my readers, I apologize for making it all about me, but I guess can't control it. Oh shit.

Aren't there are so many times, especially when busy, when we can't see things for what they really are. Are there other parts of my life where I was so off the mark that I am not seeing the forest through the trees? I mean, it's like having Beer Goggles (remember that expression from college, when someone looks totally different and appealing to you once you get a good buzz on), but the beer goggles are on myself, "Oh no, it's not an all about me blog, I'm not really that narcissistic that I have to write about myself every day." Nope, not this girl. Uuuhhh, NOT.

And then I started thinking about how some parents have such beer goggles on their kids. Is there anything worse than a mother so proud that she'll tell any Tom, Dick or Harry who could give a shit how great her little darling is doing at t-ball or math? Elliot has an expression for this, it just hits the nail on the head so very well. "She thinks her kid shits ice cream," he'll say after enduring a brag session. I'm sorry, I'm not interested in hearing about how gifted your little Johnny is, in fact, as a standard rule for parents, I think bragging should only be reserved for grandparents, spouses, or truly best friends. Period. Because in general, nobody else wants to hear it.

But at the same time, we must walk the fine line of being humble yet exceedingly supportive, teaching lessons in pride while also showing grace and humility. It is a dance, and one I have yet to perfect. Yes, I want to champion their causes, but at the same time, at every toddler playgroup, if there was a crash, I could immediately blame Sumner or Marshall, as 99% of the time it was one of them. Likewise, when CeCe comes home reporting some injustice from the playground, I am realistic enough to say, "It stinks that she doesn't want to be your friend, but what did you say to her right BEFORE she said that..."

I'll bet most adults will agree that if there's anyone who has permanent beer goggles on a child is it a grandparent. Last year I took Elliot's Mom, Mimi with me to watch the girls at gymnastics class. She sat through the first few minutes quietly captivated at the talent of her granddaughters as I thumbed through People magazine. She then said matter-of-factly, "Don't you think they just sparkle. Don't ours have a magic you don't see in all the others?" As if perfectly timed I looked up at CeCe who was awkwardly trying to catapult herself over a mini vault with the grace of Bigfoot and then, not having listened to instructions, lumbered over to join the line of the wrong group. Sparkle? Not exactly. Stand out? Yes. But not necessarily in a good way.

So the at the next parent observation week for CeCe's gymnastics class, I went with a new attitude, wearing my beer goggles and determined to see said, "Sparkle." But minutes in it was clear that she was, in fact, the least skilled in the class. I proudly snapped photo after photo, determined to show my support REGARDLESS of her expertise. After all, isn't THAT what parents are for? To be there no matter how skilled we are?

So I am sitting there watching, trying not to cringe while CeCe and her best buddy Virginia, who was clearly the most adroit in the group which only magnified CeCe's awkwardness, have the most fun out of anyone. So I get that warm motherly feeling when the Romanian gymnastics coach approaches me to immediately burst my bubble. In a thick accent reminiscent of Bela Karolyi she says, "I do not think she know what I mean when I say, 'Tighten your muscles, CeCe.' She is marshmallow, non?" Uuuh, marshmallow? Maybe, but as her mother,I reserve the right to call her doughy....And then the coach proceeded to say, "Marshmallow," several more times in front of all the other parents and simulated a squeezing motion with her hands. Um, proud moment over. My next goal was to collect my little marshmallow and get out of there ASAP before she realized that the coach was calling HER a marshmallow and not handing out marshmallows to the class.




So the whole beer goggles thing has been on my mind, because as a parent, I have always thought that it is not my job NOT to express how perfect they are, but to have their backs even when they suck at something. I didn't care what the other parents in the group thought, I just didn't want CeCe to think she was anything less than awesome.

As for my self directed beer goggles, I'm just going to embrace being an 'All about me' blog writer and get over it already. I'll just keep telling myself it's a family memoir and then pour my own selfish thoughts and feelings out there for half the world to see. Call me self-centered, call me egotistical, whatever, I'm just gonna put my beer goggles on and write.

My Special Purpose

So I've been a little distracted lately, or should I say, more distracted than usual. I'm not afraid to admit it. I can blame my sister for this, as it was on the trip to Connecticut that I began my latest agitating thought process. I went to see her and her partner Jack, who is an artist. As a birthday present, my sister volunteered his talents and he did a sketch of me as a surprise for Elliot.

Here are some pics of the process...




Ok so bear in mind when looking at the next photo that the ONLY thing I had to do was keep my mouth shut...I couldn't do it, go figure.





Holy shit, right? I mean, all he did was look at me for 2 seconds and then casually jot a few lines on the paper. Talk about talent. My job was to simply sit there and shut up for a couple of hours and I couldn't even manage to do that. I chatted away as he sweetly reminded me to keep my mouth closed every few minutes or so.

The portrait experience was immediately followed up by my sister, a professional chef, throwing a few simple things effortlessly into a pot and having it come out as a fantastic mouth watering dinner 45 minutes later. Talk about being surrounded by skill and competence...

That night as I thought back on my day, I sent an anxious email to my friend Betsy who knows me well. "What's my special talent?" I demanded. I had just been immersed in far too much artistry than I was used to and of course, had to make it about me...so she responds with, "The only thing to conclude when surrounded by greatness is the realization that we can't do shit." And there you have it.

I recently found out my dear friend Cindy is a kick ass bowler; my sister in law was a childhood backgammon champion, who knew? I love when I find out some quirky skill someone has tucked away in their back pocket only to be pulled out on certain occasions. I caught either Sumner or Marshall bragging to CeCe recently about their ability to read. Not to burst her bubble or anything, but I had to interject, "You know, everyone learns to read eventually, so it's not really a talent to hang your hat on..." I should have taken my own advice in college when my advisor guided me to major in what I enjoyed, rather than honing in on a specific skill. This led me to English which has given me the pleasure of reading many great works but has left me without a specific goal...

Remember about this time last year when the Olympics were on T.V. and I was feeling so inferior? Well that's what the weekend with Lesley and Jack was like except in person. Jack worked on the portrait and Lesley worked on dinner while I, um, sat on the couch for the better part of the day demanding they come up with a "My Special Purpose" and cracking jokes about Steve Martin's "Special Purpose" from the movie The Jerk (one of the greatest of all time, by the way).

So for the rest of the weekend, we racked our brains trying to come up with a legit talent for me..."Um, you're a really good long distance runner." She suggested, "Or maybe it's relationships, you're a people person..." She declared with certainty. Does this even count? "I know," She said 10 minutes later, walking into the room all excited, "You're really good with animals." Clearly she had forgotten that my snarly puppy had been sent to The Dog Wizard for boot camp after I had deemed him untrainable. By the way, this works wonders...talent with animals? You haven't seen good until you have witnessed Jake work his magic.

So after hours (literally, we didn't leave the house all day) we came up with nothing. No special purpose, no raw talent for this lady. So my sister did make me feel better by reminding me not to feel that I had come up short by lacking a specific talent, but that I am more one of those people who is all around good at a LOT of things. Hence the complete variety of answers I got from everyone I felt it was appropriate to ask. Elliot's answer was, "Breaking Balls," as any husband's response would be...nice.

Elliot always chuckles when he proofreads my resume and I list random stuff at the end under Special Skills. "Photography?" he joked the last time as we agreed that taking candid family photos on Christmas doesn't exactly a photographer make, but still. I had to put something, right? You can't leave something like this blank. My favorite section to fill out on job applications has always been the "Awards and Recognition" part. It's so easy, I just skip over it, no writing necessary. A while back I thought about maybe getting a job in retail, you know, just for fun and the discount. Little did I know, there was a 10 page questionnaire process to work at a stationary store and according to my application, I was barely qualified to get from the car to the store. This could be where my complex began.

So the conclusion I came to was that I have coasted along being happily average for most of my life. Then you get to the point when you have kids and the focus is all on them. Once your kids grow a little and you start to think about what the hell you are going to do with the rest of your life, it leaves a mother to ponder what her true talents are. I have a friend who is a personal trainer who asks all of her clients what their "Passion" is. What do you enjoy doing so much that you would like to spend more time doing it? As martyrs, ooops, I mean mothers, it is hard to find the time to do this. It's all about the daily care and management of your little people and near impossible to carve out even one sweet moment for maternal solitude. But now? They're in school all day. There's time to think about this, and it has only led me to continue my quest for greatness. But instead of wondering till the cows come home about where I'm lacking, I'm gonna work with what I've got. It's a little hypocritical of me to preach about gratitude to my girls when I'm sitting here focusing on where I'm coming up short instead of embracing the aptitude of those around me, right? Easier said than done.

So unable to come up with any concrete answers, I'm just gonna go with my favorite response I got. When I asked an old friend what she thought my passion was, she said, quite simply, "Laughter." Ding ding ding...that's it. So simple, but exactly the talent I am comfortable with, if we can even call this a skill. I'm labelling it as a people skill, but truly is there anything better than roll on the floor, side splitting, stomach aching laughter? Is there really anything more enjoyable than a good old snicker in the middle of church? What about when you are having a problem, or are in crisis, and something someone says strikes you as smile cracking funny for the first time since you were upset? It's the greatest.

So I'm satisfied with laughter, and I can piggyback this onto the talent I find most important to hand down to my children: Resilience...the ability to let things roll off your back, the impossible skill of forgiving and moving on, even when you don't want to. If I can show them this, then I have fulfilled my passion, that and the amusement of some great potty humor or even a good clean joke at my own expense, which seems to be my forte.

So the next time I update my resume, or have to fill out one of those pesky PTA volunteer forms which includes the question, "Do you have any special talents?" I'm going to write "Laughing" and then wait to see what kind of job I get assigned. Hee hee...