Ok, so now it’s out there; I haven’t followed through with my commitment to the blog. Deal with it. After my last entry, I think in July, I wrote oh so sweetly that I was so motivated by Elliot’s enthusiasm for my writing that I decided to really buckle down and make the time for it again…so I asked him a couple of days after posting what he thought of my latest entry…. “UUUHHH, I haven’t had time to read it yet.” So now, three months later, I’m back, ‘cause I just haven’t had time to get around to it…” Ha! Two can play that game.
But actually, it is with good reason that I have been on hiatus (I like the sound of that, it makes me feel really important) and it has nothing to do with Elliot. I began writing because I wanted to keep better track of all the little things that happen in our lives. The big things with kids make an indelible imprint on our parental brains, but who can remember all of the small moments, some humorous, some mundane, but all meaningful. So when I began, I had the best intention…recording our lives FOR the kids, well, that sort of naturally morphed into me making FUN of the kids. What can I say, I can’t help it, it's done with love. But somewhere over the summer I lost my lighthearted tendency to laugh and shrug off the small stuff. Having all three girls home all day, every day I began to feel the heady responsibility that so many mothers feel and won’t admit to because they feel too guilty.
I think this is one of those entries that I wish was anonymous; my friends and I have had many debates over this. But when I “committed” to the blog, I decided I had to be willing to put it all out there and not give a shit about what people thought of it. You can love it, hate it, be moved or irritated by it, but I’m writing it and doing it without reservation, because I think this is a maternal issue that needs to be out there.
I got depressed…which if you see me every day is SO unlike me; not saying I’m Little Miss Perky all of the time but I am generally in very good spirits (who else could be a preschool teacher.) But suddenly, each day, I felt the weight of the world, and less humor in it. I began to feel less and less amused by the daily happenings around our house and only could hear the negative interactions between my children. And summer will do this to you…not that I’m blaming the Public school system for giving us summer vacation, or Mother Nature for sending the temperature up and shrouding us with humidity, but still. Having everyone home is so fucking hard, and there is a feeling of loneliness in motherhood that no one really warns you about. I have felt this before, no stranger to isolation (lest we not forget I had two toddlers and a newborn in the dead of winter in Connecticut). Try being lonely as hell while never ACTUALLY being alone…
So I faked it for awhile, went dutifully to the pool, out for ice cream, and daily bike rides, but my heart wasn’t in it. I do think my kids began to pick up on my faking, and in turn began to bicker like it’s nobody’s business…. But there’s just something so painful about being half in it all the time, almost like flat-lining and not knowing how to pull out of it. Now don’t get me wrong, I was functioning…but just not able to put my finger on my lack of enthusiasm for, ummmm...everything.
I can write about this in retrospect because I have had a positive outcome. Elliot, who has known me and handled my antics since 1995 (Oh my God 16 years, we’re so old) finally sat me down because I just didn’t seem like myself. I give him massive credit for knowing me oh, so well, because I am, in fact, an excellent faker. I adore my husband for this, as he saw through it…. “I think I’m depressed.” I said, matter of factly, and naming it actually began to make it feel better. Never one to sit idly, the next day I had an appointment with my doctor, and now, I’m the poster girl for Zoloft.
Embarassed about it? Clearly I’m not, as I am writing this for everyone I know to read. Honesty about this issue is so very important for us Moms (or anyone for that matter, don’t mean to play the Mom card,) as we muddle through our days. Don’t get me wrong, my life is not that hard, which makes the guilt surrounding feeling depressed even that much weightier. But if I can help one person who may be coasting through on autopilot then it’s worth the embarrassment of this entry. I’m pretty upfront with anyone who asks me, and have gotten some pretty strange looks from people who innocently ask me, “How was your summer?” and I respond with, “It sucked, it blew, or I’m glad it’s over.” But I’m just being honest and editing myself is not really my forte…as those devoted to reading this may already know.
Not all entries will be this heavy going forward, but I couldn’t start blogging again, even though I have wanted to, without putting this out there.
So readers, think twice about giving me any shit about not blogging enough in the past couple of months or else you might get to hear more about how my summer was…hee hee hee…
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
Mother of the Year
Do you ever get a vision in your head about the way things are supposed to be and then have a tantrum when you just can't seem to make it work out like you planned? Elliot and I were talking about one of the girls this week and how she likes things a certain way; not necessarily the "Right" way, but just the way she has envisioned it. When she is not able to execute it, she either gets mad or gives up, usually resulting in throwing something, yelling at the unsuspecting passer by, or pouting somewhere. And so the blame game began. "I don't know where she gets it," I remarked, followed by a typical, "Must be from you," I said to Elliot and then kissed him goodbye as he left for work.
I went for my run that morning, I couldn't stop thinking about our conversation and then began to realize that Sumner could, in fact, get this from me and I am just too darn stubborn to see it. I thought back to comments a couple of people in my life have made in recent months. My hairdresser Lesley said that last time I was in, "Just once I would like you to come in here and not be SO hard on yourself." She responded as I examined my wrinkles AND acne in her oh so huge mirror, "Just once I wish your lighting in here wouldn't be so harsh..." I responded. By the way, no one warned me that wrinkles and acne could occur simultaneously...I mistakenly thought that once you got wrinkles, your acne days were over; I seem to be one of the lucky ones who gets to have them both at once.
Later in that same week when I arrived home from my night class and asked our faithful babysitter, Lizzie how the girls were she tactfully, but honestly reported that they hadn't had the best night. I apologized profusely, then harshly blamed myself for their not so stellar behavior. "You are so hard on yourself. They're great girls," She said, and I apologized once more. My expectations are just too darn high, and I seem to be cycling in this pattern of self blame when things aren't just "So."
But truly, it has come to my attention that even though I am not working these days and my life is still in disarray. Not that it has to be perfect, but some semblance of organization and consistency would be nice. I thought I was going to have all of this "Time" and be such a stellar stay-at-home mother while I finish my school. Well, don't let this surprise you, but it ends up I am still not in the running for Mother of the year. Now I know no one is perfect, but I have started the school year off a bit,well, scattered,unfocused, I think could be a good word for it but I think we mothers often use the excuse of "Busy" as a more attractive way of describing it.
Aaaah Mother of the year, working to impress those around you usually bites me in the ass every time, and so it did when I made 28 cupcakes from scratch when Marshall informed me it was her teacher's birthday. I was up until after 10 frosting and decorating (And Momma don't stay up till 10.) I just wanted Marshall, who is usually so self conscious, to be proud to be the one to bring the yummy cupcakes to her teacher and her class.
After school the next day when I asked her how the cupcakes were she said, "Great." Then I encountered our next door neighbor's child who is in Marshall's class, "We weren't allowed to eat your cupcakes" He called from across the yard... "What?" I yelled, "I made those from scratch." Not that he cared, or even knew what "From scratch" was. So I go inside and ask Marshall what happened to the cupcakes, "Well, I brought them in and everyone got all excited, then Mrs. H pointed out the school rule about NOT eating anything homemade and she had to put them in the teacher's lounge...but I didn't want to make you feel bad." Awwww, sweet Marshall trying to spare my feelings. I guess it serves me right for trying to look so together and superior with my baking and whatnot. I think the thing to focus on in this story is that Marshall was very gracious and sensitive with me. The next day when I was walking past the school carrying the empty cupcake tray home, the gym teacher looks at me knowingly and said, "Ohhh it was you who made the cupcakes." I could read between the lines, what he meant was, "You're the moron who has been at this school for 3 years and still doesn't know you're not allowed to bake, but the cupcakes were yummy anyway."
It kinda made me think (and this goes waaaay back to the '80s) of the movie Mr. Mom, when he tries to drive carpool and has no idea what the rules are and some lady yells, "South to drop off, North to pick up, asshole." Well, that was me, I was the asshole, and I'm not even the Dad. You know how there is always at least one Mom in the class who is sort of not with the program? Well I fear that is me this year.
This conclusion was realized for sure a couple of weeks ago after Auggie (our puppy) had a wicked case of conjunctivitis. When I could put off a vet trip no longer, I broke down and called, "No, really, it's pink eye," I said, diagnosing him over the phone in the hopes I would not have to drag all 3 girls AND the pup to the vet.
So we get to the there and she says Auggie does, indeed, have pink eye. Dr. Abendroth asks if I still have the drops since the last time he had pinkeye and I told her I had cleaned out the cabinet (because I'm so organized) since then so she goes to get him some drops. When she comes back in the room she shows me the bottle and says he needs them twice a day. I see the bottle and a panic comes over me as I realize that I have just last week used the doggie drops on Marshall when I thought she had pink eye. "Uuhh, so, ummm hypothetically, what would happen if I used those on one of the girls?" I casually asked trying not to appear too concerned at my own blunder. "You mean the kids?" she asked sort of beginning a ventriloquist routine, with what I believe was a bit of a smirk. At that point, Marshall, ever the eavesdropper, realizes what we are talking about, puts two and two together, and yells, "I'm going to turn into a dog." Ok so rest assured, no need to call DSS, apparently dog drops and human drops have mostly the same ingredients, but still.
Basically, when my ONE job at the moment is to maintain the status quo at home, here I am putting eye drops for canines in my sweet baby's eyes. Dr. Abendroth who is single with no kids is clearly enjoying this whole scene and informs Marshall that if she begins to bark she needs to come back to see her immediately. Suffice it to say the joke was not really well received, hee hee, but it at least made ME laugh about the whole thing. As we are on our way out, Dr. Abendroth says, "Next time just tell them at the front desk that you think he has pink eye and you won't have to come in..." Ok, we can take a hint...we're a nightmare. Enough said.
But here's what I have taken away from my most recent blunders:sure it looks good on paper to be the library volunteer, tutor, class mother and PTA member, not to mention wife, mother, student...but in reality, all of these things add up to one huge time vacuum. And what for? My own peace of mind so that at least I know I'm doing something? But I've gotta tell you, there are some days when I really feel like I suck at this.
It was our dog trainer, Alan who is helping me grab the reins on our snarly puppy who pointed our they need is consistency...kids OR dogs. So I guess I'd better pull it together before I become one of those crazies who walks around with my kids on leashes but if I continue on my recent path, the girls will get kibble for breakfast and the dogs are gonna start sitting at the table with us.
Which brings me to my main point. No one was ever voted Mother of the Year by rushing around like a crazy woman. This is where my new mantra has come into play. I have replaced "Do you have Running Water" with this catchy little rhyme...and I've already repeated it twice today: "A little more laughter, a little less worry. A little more kindness, a little less hurry." Parent or not, couldn't we all benefit from thinking this way? I dunno, but I'm testing it out to see how it goes...and one last thing: whoever came up with the Mother of the Year award is on my shit list...along with the inventor of the Good Housekeeping seal...
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.
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...
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.
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...
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...
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