We've been building up to Valentine's Day, or more specifically the celebration at school, for almost 10 days now. First, we painted hearts on our house in anticipation of the big day. Then we started to make the 17 valentines each kiddo would need for class, including 4 for teachers. We had to start early because no 3 1/2 year old is going to be able to sit down and create 17 cards in one sitting, or even two, or, to be honest, even three. In the end, I made about 5 valentines each, mimicking each child's distinct valentine style: foamies for Sis and doilies with rubber stamps and/or punches for Bud. We even had a practice run, throwing our own Valentine's Day playgroup on Monday, where we decorated bags and exchanged cards (well, we gave out playdough). And swapped the chocolate heart cutout cookies we had made.
And so this morning was the big day. The kiddos took their zipper bag full of valentines--unaddressed for easier and fairer distribution--and a container full of heart cookies to school. Immediately, Bud got that zipper bag open and tried to give Mrs. Director a card to go with her cookies. But passing them out had to wait. I'm sure it was a long day for them.
Just as it had been a long week for us moms. I had been set on us making our valentine's cards because I thought it was a good way to show that we cared, but I might have been overreaching and, well, vain in that my-kids-made-their-cards/we're-too-good-for-storebought-cards kind of way. Since they can't sign their names yet, I didn't want to be the one to choose a store card set, sign their names, and get them ready to give out without any of their own input. They could have, however, signed their letters and colored envelopes and actually chosen the set, which would have involved them and put them imprimatur on the activity. I just hadn't thought of that. Next year. Because, in the end, making that many valentines just ceased to be a pleasurable activity by the third hourlong+ session.
I know other moms gave just as much thought to their Valentine's Day treats. Mama Teacher spent all last Friday, and another evening besides, making cards for her son's class--complete with stamps and punches. And I think there were going to be some treats too, right? Another mom had decided to take corn muffins to her child's celebration but had those vetoed by her husband as not celebratory or appropriate; she was calling me for advice on royal icing and ideas where to find merengue powder (I hope those turned out, Miss J). Lastly, another Miss J was whipping up a batch of chocolate chip cookies for her daughter's class, a new class that the daughter just joined a week ago and so the mom wasn't even sure she had the class list or was supposed to address the cards. We've all been giving this a lot of thought. Heck, even the moms whose kids aren't in school yet were asking questions about the whole thing!
Is it worth it? Well, my kids were thrilled beyond belief, tickled "pinkalicious," to bring those Valentine's Day bags filled with cards and treats home this afternoon. Bud had eaten two lollipops from his stash before we were halfway home. Did they look at the cards? Sure, to color in the coloring pages with the little markers they had gotten. The cards were shiny and glossy, with neat tabs for closing or slots for candy or stickers or pencils--lots of cars and princesses and Thomas--boy, valentines have gotten more sophisticated since those generic, perforated cartoon cards in little envelopes that we had. But there wasn't a single box of Sweethearts! So, progress isn't everything . . . I liked looking at how each child, when they did so, signed his or her name. Something about being able to write their names makes the kiddos seem so grown up. It's such an accomplishment to be able to write your name, to mark ownership, to forge identity. My kids are so proud of writing their first initials--wait til they can write the whole thing!!
I think I had forgotten the magic of the holiday. Mama and I have often made it special for each other, but it is a small, intimate holiday now (even though Mama despises it as an artificial, commercial holiday, but she humors me and plays along). But I remember the sheer delight of choosing valentines, making boxes (aways shoeboxes, I think), getting cards, eating candy--the happiness of the big pile. I never remember any angst of who gave me what and who didn't. And this was before the days of you-must-bring-one-for-everybody. But I think we did. Or if we didn't, I just didn't care. It was just happy. As their teacher said today, there just aren't any expectations so the joy is rather pure and unsullied. Even for those of us moms full of expectations and working behind the scenes to make it happen, I'd say it was worth it.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Get Well Soon
Our best wishes for a speedy recovery go out to CJ, who seems to have gotten the awful stomach bug/flu virus that has hit our area. Several other little friends have had versions of it. And we hope you and Mr Teacher don't get it, Mama Teacher.
It'll Make You Cry
Our 4-weeks early kids were only in the NICU for a bit, and then as big, healthy babies with slight sugar and breathing problems and thus not in the same jeopardy of the other babies there, but this post on preemies at Motherlode still captures the way we felt those first few days. Even when they got home, we were scared that they were somehow more fragile than non-preemie babies who didn't go to the NICU. You'll read it and weep.
Baby Come Back
The kiddos are 3 1/2 now and I can only sometimes see the baby in each of them. The personalities haven't changed much: Sis is still curious, persistent, and fearless, and loves animals and Shirt; Bud still loves music, a cuddle, and being around people instead of by himself. But physically, there is very little left of the babies they were. If Sis is sitting in my lap, and I brush back her hair and look down on her face, I can see the chubby cheeks that were her hallmark. And if Bud rolls on his back and lifts his legs so he can pull off his socks simultaneously, it's the roly-poly baby who played on the floor a few years ago. Neither of these happen often so it makes me smile, if a bit wistfully, when it does.
24 Hours and Counting
I have been brace-free for more than 24 hours, for the first time since October 2007. I have even played outside, driven the car, gone on errands, and dropped the kids off at school. All without that darned, old back brace. And I feel pretty good. Of course, I'm thinking about it a lot so that I move and sit correctly. But nothing hurts. I had been working up to it for months now--loosening the brace, removing its metal stays, not wearing it a few hours off and on when I was home alone. And there were aches and pains, especially when I first started going long stretches without it, as my body adjusted again, but that was to be expected. I'm glad to be almost rid of the crutch that has been physically unnecessary for awhile (my diastasis recti has shrunk as far as it can and my core is so much stronger). But as my PT said when I told her last week that I was really making progress with weaning myself from it, fear of pain, not just pain, can be very difficult to overcome. I still worry about hurting my back again, which is a constant motivation for going to my workout. But I don't want the fear made real in the form of that backbrace anymore.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
5K Mania
No, not $5K mania, though in this day and age, I imagine $5000 could create some excitement for almost anyone. But I can understand your confusion. I never talk about exercise.
Yep, I'm talking the walk-run kind.
I don't even know how it started. And I was there. It was playgroup, moms were chatting, and the next thing I knew, it was like we were in a huddle getting ready to break. Everyone was gung-ho about getting in shape and training to run a 5K this May. I listened, not being one of those standing around swearing she used to love to exercise, to work out, even to run; I'm just not one of those people.
That afternoon, I laughingly, jokingly mentioned the hubbub among my friends about running a 5K to my physical therapist. She forbade me, laughing at the prospect along with me. But then she did qualify that by saying she would be in full support of my walking one. Uh-oh. I should have seen that coming.
And so, I'm thinking about it. I've half-heartedly googled "how to train to walk a 5K" and come up with these bizarre-looking calendar charts of WU, Rx2 (5), CD and other incoherent abbreviations. But I wrote my PT a note asking how she would do it, if she were me. And, here now, I'll ask Lambeth how he trained to walk the Thames (loving those pics, Lambeth!). And I've even looked up which 5Ks in the area I can walk. See, I'm a joiner, like being with my friends, so even though it's exercise we're talking about, I'm thinking about it.
Actually, cynical me gives it 3 weeks. I think we'll all realize we don't have a ton of spare, non-child time to actually do any real training for a 5K. I mean, I don't have a few hours daily to practice walking 3.2 miles. But then, novice that I am, I don't even know if that's how you do it. But I'm looking into it. Mama was so shocked when I mentioned it--not in an unsupportive way, just in a you've-never-mentioned-exercise-voluntarily-before way--it might be nice to do something completely outside of my little sedentary box.
Yep, I'm talking the walk-run kind.
I don't even know how it started. And I was there. It was playgroup, moms were chatting, and the next thing I knew, it was like we were in a huddle getting ready to break. Everyone was gung-ho about getting in shape and training to run a 5K this May. I listened, not being one of those standing around swearing she used to love to exercise, to work out, even to run; I'm just not one of those people.
That afternoon, I laughingly, jokingly mentioned the hubbub among my friends about running a 5K to my physical therapist. She forbade me, laughing at the prospect along with me. But then she did qualify that by saying she would be in full support of my walking one. Uh-oh. I should have seen that coming.
And so, I'm thinking about it. I've half-heartedly googled "how to train to walk a 5K" and come up with these bizarre-looking calendar charts of WU, Rx2 (5), CD and other incoherent abbreviations. But I wrote my PT a note asking how she would do it, if she were me. And, here now, I'll ask Lambeth how he trained to walk the Thames (loving those pics, Lambeth!). And I've even looked up which 5Ks in the area I can walk. See, I'm a joiner, like being with my friends, so even though it's exercise we're talking about, I'm thinking about it.
Actually, cynical me gives it 3 weeks. I think we'll all realize we don't have a ton of spare, non-child time to actually do any real training for a 5K. I mean, I don't have a few hours daily to practice walking 3.2 miles. But then, novice that I am, I don't even know if that's how you do it. But I'm looking into it. Mama was so shocked when I mentioned it--not in an unsupportive way, just in a you've-never-mentioned-exercise-voluntarily-before way--it might be nice to do something completely outside of my little sedentary box.
Fast, Mommy! Hungry!
It's 4:45, you haven't been to the store having played outside with the kids all afternoon, and there's nothing coherent in the cabinets and thus far nothing on your stove. There's nothing frozen and you had take-out last night. What do you do?
An article in the NYTimes today explored several multicultural answers to the usual "what's for dinner-in-a-hurry" question: Korean Pa Jun (like scallion pancakes), Ecuadoran Sopa de Tortilla de Huevos (Egg Tortilla Soup), and Hungarian Lentil Stew.
Mercy, makes my go-to dinner sound very boring: scrambled eggs. Not cheese eggs, not a Western omelet, not even "toad in a hole." Though, if I have any ground turkey in the house, I will make a version of Ar-Ma's omelet, which is basically scrambled eggs with meat, soy sauce, and (though not for the kids) dried radish. What do I eat? Two fried eggs and a piece of wheat toast.
If I have a little more time, I can make my favorite, an adapted version of Mario Batali's Pasta e Lenticchie, which takes about 30 minutes tops and can be served with a variety of seasonings (Italian, sweet curry powder, or chili con carne seasonings) and starches (pasta of any shape, couscous, or rice). For the kids, I can throw together a chicken rice meatloaf or chicken cutlets (provided I have any protein in my freezer) in 30 minutes, with frozen veggies on the side.
What does Mama make? She's an expert at throwing together whatever is in the fridge to make a stir fry over any type of noodle or fried rice. She could make cardboard edible with some baby corn and Maggi! But her favorite is Ketchup Macaroni, which her dad would make when her mom worked late. It's actually an Americanized Chinese noodle stir fry, even if it sounds more Italian.
I'm not sure what my mom served when under pressure. I don't really remember her being harried around dinnertime. Most of the food she made for dinner would have had to have been put together a couple of hours before (baked chicken, rump roast, stew), when we were at school. But I barely remember faster food, except maybe spaghetti every now and then. And that meatloaf (but she makes hers in a loaf, which takes longer than my muffin tin loaves). Swanson's tv dinners were for babysitter night and McDs was only when we were already out; I almost can't remember having pizza at home as a child.
Do you maintain any specific cultural heritage in your homecooking? I think, if you looked at my weekly menu, which rotates between new dish for us/leftovers for them and leftovers for us/new dish for them, you would guess that I'm a middle-class white woman of mixed Euro stock without too much sense of culinary adventure and a detectable Southern dedication to rouxs, gravies, greens, and cornbread. Well, you'd also know I'm a vegetarian but my kids are omnivores. Having become a vegetarian, I have been trying lots of new, often international recipes (though tonight it's a Euro peasant-style cabbage and bean stew in my crockpot, but it was Morocca chickpea stew the other day) and don't really make most of the foods my mom made us, even though they were all good. And the kids are in the picky stage and never eat much of anything so it makes little sense to make a whole roast for them (and that's not a quickie have-the-ingredients-ready meal anyway). They do inhale baked chicken with rice and gravy, well, the rice and gravy at least (and I do have a chicken in the freezer, but that would take some planning to defrost and then bake). Mama does go through stages where cooking Chinese and Thai food are more important to her and the kids do really like whatever she makes, as long as we say the recipe is Ar-Ma's. I think it's the soy sauce. And baby corn.
What do you make when you're in a hurry? Is it something from your childhood? Something you've just discovered? Will you try the recipes in the article? I will try them, but not on my harried nights. For those, I make meals I can throw together with my eyes closed. And that's just not going to be an Ecuadoran or Hungarian stew. Yet. Though, I used to think Pasta e Lenticchie was a challenge. It's all about practice I guess. And familiarity. Which is what makes homecooking homey.
-=-=-=-=-
Pasta e Lenticchie
I have really started to pare this down--no fresh parsley, cook the pasta separately so it reheats better, any kind of seasonings (instead of the hot pepper flakes), any kind of canned tomatoes (diced, crushed, stewed), any kind of starch actually. And I love all the varieties.
5 cups water
3/4 cups lentils
2 large cloves garlic, crushed
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 cup chopped canned plum tomatoes, with some juice
2 teaspoons salt
1/4 teaspoon hot red pepper flakes
1/2 pound vermicelli, or small tubular pasta, or pasta mista
2 rounded tablespoons finely cut or snipped parsley
Optional: extra-virgin olive oil and hot red pepper flakes or hot pepper oil, for garnish
In a medium saucepan, bring the water to a rolling boil, add the lentils, and cook, covered over medium-high heat, until nearly but not entirely tender, about 20 minutes. Add the garlic, the olive oil, the tomatoes, the salt and the pepper. Reduce the heat, cover and continue to simmer briskly for another 10 minutes, stirring a few times, or until the lentils are fully tender.
If using capellini, break it into 2 to 4-inch pieces and add them to the lentils. Cook, covered, at a steady simmer, stirring several times and scraping the bottom of the pot when you do. Cook until the pasta is just done, stirring more frequently as it gets closer to the point of being cooked. If using a small tubular pasta or pasta mista, cook the pasta at least halfway in plenty of salted boiling water. Drain the pasta, add it to the lentils and simmer to finish cooking the pasta.
When pasta is cooked to taste, remove the pot from the heat, stir in the parsley cover the pot, and let stand about 5 minutes before serving. Serve hot, passing hot pepper oil or the best-quality extra virgin olive oil for drizzling on top.
“Molto Mario”
-=-=-=-=-
Mama's Ketchup Macaroni
I can’t believe she adds ketchup and I freaked out the first time, but I’ve grown to like it.
macaroni
vegetables: bamboo shoots, waterchestnuts, snow peas, baby corn, straw mushrooms
ketchup
soy sauce
worchestershire sauce
chicken and fried egg, optional
Saute veggies, while boiling pasta separately. Add pasta to veggies and fry until slightly dry. Add ketchup, soy and worchestershire sauce. Mama likes it slightly burned.
An article in the NYTimes today explored several multicultural answers to the usual "what's for dinner-in-a-hurry" question: Korean Pa Jun (like scallion pancakes), Ecuadoran Sopa de Tortilla de Huevos (Egg Tortilla Soup), and Hungarian Lentil Stew.
Mercy, makes my go-to dinner sound very boring: scrambled eggs. Not cheese eggs, not a Western omelet, not even "toad in a hole." Though, if I have any ground turkey in the house, I will make a version of Ar-Ma's omelet, which is basically scrambled eggs with meat, soy sauce, and (though not for the kids) dried radish. What do I eat? Two fried eggs and a piece of wheat toast.
If I have a little more time, I can make my favorite, an adapted version of Mario Batali's Pasta e Lenticchie, which takes about 30 minutes tops and can be served with a variety of seasonings (Italian, sweet curry powder, or chili con carne seasonings) and starches (pasta of any shape, couscous, or rice). For the kids, I can throw together a chicken rice meatloaf or chicken cutlets (provided I have any protein in my freezer) in 30 minutes, with frozen veggies on the side.
What does Mama make? She's an expert at throwing together whatever is in the fridge to make a stir fry over any type of noodle or fried rice. She could make cardboard edible with some baby corn and Maggi! But her favorite is Ketchup Macaroni, which her dad would make when her mom worked late. It's actually an Americanized Chinese noodle stir fry, even if it sounds more Italian.
I'm not sure what my mom served when under pressure. I don't really remember her being harried around dinnertime. Most of the food she made for dinner would have had to have been put together a couple of hours before (baked chicken, rump roast, stew), when we were at school. But I barely remember faster food, except maybe spaghetti every now and then. And that meatloaf (but she makes hers in a loaf, which takes longer than my muffin tin loaves). Swanson's tv dinners were for babysitter night and McDs was only when we were already out; I almost can't remember having pizza at home as a child.
Do you maintain any specific cultural heritage in your homecooking? I think, if you looked at my weekly menu, which rotates between new dish for us/leftovers for them and leftovers for us/new dish for them, you would guess that I'm a middle-class white woman of mixed Euro stock without too much sense of culinary adventure and a detectable Southern dedication to rouxs, gravies, greens, and cornbread. Well, you'd also know I'm a vegetarian but my kids are omnivores. Having become a vegetarian, I have been trying lots of new, often international recipes (though tonight it's a Euro peasant-style cabbage and bean stew in my crockpot, but it was Morocca chickpea stew the other day) and don't really make most of the foods my mom made us, even though they were all good. And the kids are in the picky stage and never eat much of anything so it makes little sense to make a whole roast for them (and that's not a quickie have-the-ingredients-ready meal anyway). They do inhale baked chicken with rice and gravy, well, the rice and gravy at least (and I do have a chicken in the freezer, but that would take some planning to defrost and then bake). Mama does go through stages where cooking Chinese and Thai food are more important to her and the kids do really like whatever she makes, as long as we say the recipe is Ar-Ma's. I think it's the soy sauce. And baby corn.
What do you make when you're in a hurry? Is it something from your childhood? Something you've just discovered? Will you try the recipes in the article? I will try them, but not on my harried nights. For those, I make meals I can throw together with my eyes closed. And that's just not going to be an Ecuadoran or Hungarian stew. Yet. Though, I used to think Pasta e Lenticchie was a challenge. It's all about practice I guess. And familiarity. Which is what makes homecooking homey.
-=-=-=-=-
Pasta e Lenticchie
I have really started to pare this down--no fresh parsley, cook the pasta separately so it reheats better, any kind of seasonings (instead of the hot pepper flakes), any kind of canned tomatoes (diced, crushed, stewed), any kind of starch actually. And I love all the varieties.
5 cups water
3/4 cups lentils
2 large cloves garlic, crushed
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 cup chopped canned plum tomatoes, with some juice
2 teaspoons salt
1/4 teaspoon hot red pepper flakes
1/2 pound vermicelli, or small tubular pasta, or pasta mista
2 rounded tablespoons finely cut or snipped parsley
Optional: extra-virgin olive oil and hot red pepper flakes or hot pepper oil, for garnish
In a medium saucepan, bring the water to a rolling boil, add the lentils, and cook, covered over medium-high heat, until nearly but not entirely tender, about 20 minutes. Add the garlic, the olive oil, the tomatoes, the salt and the pepper. Reduce the heat, cover and continue to simmer briskly for another 10 minutes, stirring a few times, or until the lentils are fully tender.
If using capellini, break it into 2 to 4-inch pieces and add them to the lentils. Cook, covered, at a steady simmer, stirring several times and scraping the bottom of the pot when you do. Cook until the pasta is just done, stirring more frequently as it gets closer to the point of being cooked. If using a small tubular pasta or pasta mista, cook the pasta at least halfway in plenty of salted boiling water. Drain the pasta, add it to the lentils and simmer to finish cooking the pasta.
When pasta is cooked to taste, remove the pot from the heat, stir in the parsley cover the pot, and let stand about 5 minutes before serving. Serve hot, passing hot pepper oil or the best-quality extra virgin olive oil for drizzling on top.
“Molto Mario”
-=-=-=-=-
Mama's Ketchup Macaroni
I can’t believe she adds ketchup and I freaked out the first time, but I’ve grown to like it.
macaroni
vegetables: bamboo shoots, waterchestnuts, snow peas, baby corn, straw mushrooms
ketchup
soy sauce
worchestershire sauce
chicken and fried egg, optional
Saute veggies, while boiling pasta separately. Add pasta to veggies and fry until slightly dry. Add ketchup, soy and worchestershire sauce. Mama likes it slightly burned.
"Give Yourself a Thumbs Up": Playing Hooky for the First Picnic of the Year
"How are you two feeling right now?" I asked, wondering if they were coming down with the colds and flu everyone seems to have.
"I feel great," Sis said. Bud concurred.
"Okay, that's great. Then we can go to Chinese class today."
"Cough-cough. Hear that? I'm coughing so I must be sick," Sis backtracked. Bud coughed in solidarity.
"No, I think you're faking it. Don't you like Chinese class?"
Sis admitted, "I'm shy and don't talk."
"That's okay. You listen and learn."
"Um, can we do that question over again, Mom?"
Ah, the do-over. Tricky and clever. No wonder Mama and I call her "Sis, Esquire."
Well, we actually didn't go to class because I started feeling under the weather--headache, achy, maybe even fluid in my ears, soar throat, sniffles. Was is psychosomatic because I didn't really want to spend the afternoon going and coming? Or do I finally have what everyone else has (again)?
Later, I told the kiddos that I didn't feel great and that we weren't going to class.
"You sound awful, Mom," Sis sympathized. "Here, have my Amy Bunny to feel better."
And I did. So well in fact, that we walked to the deli for lunch--our usual half-meat ham sandwiches on rolls for them, with chips and candy, and a veggie wrap for me, plus a 1/2-1/2 lemonade-tea because I was craving something besides water and unsweetened iced tea. And then because the sun was shining, birds were chirping, and squirrels were frolicking, I pulled out all the outdoor blankets I could find and layered them on the spongy ground in the middle of our side yard. And we sat, eating and waving to neighbors, for our first picnic of 2009. Sure, the damp eventually came through the layers, but then we all just got up and kicked our big ball around.
After we finished eating our lunches (though Sis was still slowly finishing every single chip crumb--they eat at completely different speeds), Bud and I filled the bird feeders and played kickball. Sis soon joined us to play in the backyard--more kickball, time in the little house, and then "ice-skating" on a slick patch of ice in the shade, just like Olivia does in one of the new episodes of her show (though, we weren't practicing for Ice Capades. Thank heavens for tv sometimes--"Olivia" has been giving them some great ideas. Besides the ice, we've been playing hotel recently too. And not playing "Olivia" play hotel, but just in our own way.). They took turns sliding across the ice, sometimes while holding on to me, other times holding on to the slats of the deck. Bud was much more tentative about doing it by himself, while Sis practically danced across the ice, even sticking out her leg like figure skaters do. She is fearless and adventurous. Then she'd cheer him on (they had to take turns because the patch wasn't that big) and, when he successfully crossed over and back again by himself without holding on, she said, "Give yourself a thumbs up!" as she waved both her thumbs at him. They each only fell once (Sis said, "There is no pleasure in tummy skating." Even if that's what penguins do). But it was enough for us to eventually move to the swingset. And in the house when our wet clothes got the better of us as the sun dipped behind the house.
Feeling under the weather never felt so good.
"I feel great," Sis said. Bud concurred.
"Okay, that's great. Then we can go to Chinese class today."
"Cough-cough. Hear that? I'm coughing so I must be sick," Sis backtracked. Bud coughed in solidarity.
"No, I think you're faking it. Don't you like Chinese class?"
Sis admitted, "I'm shy and don't talk."
"That's okay. You listen and learn."
"Um, can we do that question over again, Mom?"
Ah, the do-over. Tricky and clever. No wonder Mama and I call her "Sis, Esquire."
Well, we actually didn't go to class because I started feeling under the weather--headache, achy, maybe even fluid in my ears, soar throat, sniffles. Was is psychosomatic because I didn't really want to spend the afternoon going and coming? Or do I finally have what everyone else has (again)?
Later, I told the kiddos that I didn't feel great and that we weren't going to class.
"You sound awful, Mom," Sis sympathized. "Here, have my Amy Bunny to feel better."
And I did. So well in fact, that we walked to the deli for lunch--our usual half-meat ham sandwiches on rolls for them, with chips and candy, and a veggie wrap for me, plus a 1/2-1/2 lemonade-tea because I was craving something besides water and unsweetened iced tea. And then because the sun was shining, birds were chirping, and squirrels were frolicking, I pulled out all the outdoor blankets I could find and layered them on the spongy ground in the middle of our side yard. And we sat, eating and waving to neighbors, for our first picnic of 2009. Sure, the damp eventually came through the layers, but then we all just got up and kicked our big ball around.
After we finished eating our lunches (though Sis was still slowly finishing every single chip crumb--they eat at completely different speeds), Bud and I filled the bird feeders and played kickball. Sis soon joined us to play in the backyard--more kickball, time in the little house, and then "ice-skating" on a slick patch of ice in the shade, just like Olivia does in one of the new episodes of her show (though, we weren't practicing for Ice Capades. Thank heavens for tv sometimes--"Olivia" has been giving them some great ideas. Besides the ice, we've been playing hotel recently too. And not playing "Olivia" play hotel, but just in our own way.). They took turns sliding across the ice, sometimes while holding on to me, other times holding on to the slats of the deck. Bud was much more tentative about doing it by himself, while Sis practically danced across the ice, even sticking out her leg like figure skaters do. She is fearless and adventurous. Then she'd cheer him on (they had to take turns because the patch wasn't that big) and, when he successfully crossed over and back again by himself without holding on, she said, "Give yourself a thumbs up!" as she waved both her thumbs at him. They each only fell once (Sis said, "There is no pleasure in tummy skating." Even if that's what penguins do). But it was enough for us to eventually move to the swingset. And in the house when our wet clothes got the better of us as the sun dipped behind the house.
Feeling under the weather never felt so good.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
What's Gonna Work? Housework?
I scrubbed the kitchen counter last night. Not just my usual wipe down with a clean, wet, sometimes soapy paper towel, but a complete scrub with the only non-environmentally friendly cleaner left in my house. I was tired of seeing coffee rings near the coffeemaker. And now they are gone. And my counters gleam. I kept looking at them last night and was appreciating them again today. Though, I should probably be embarrassed that they had gotten to the point that I can see a difference! It made me feel really good--the kitchen is where I spend most of my time and I try to have it, at least, in good working order.
I have been obsessed with housework recently.
No, no, not doing it, for the most part. Thinking about it. Theorizing, analyzing, philosophizing, pondering it.
Two books are at the root of my current obsession: Caroline Davidson's A Woman's Work is Never Done and Sue Bender's Plain and Simple (I have a third, Never Done, about American housework but haven't read it yet). The first book is a history of British housework, particularly its technological advances, from 1650-1950. The second is one woman's musings on her obsession with the Amish and her desire to transplant their calm, orderly, homey work ethic to her own life.
There were several things about housework that I hadn't considered before, namely that for hundreds of years, tending a house involved not only cooking and cleaning and laundry, but also lighting and heating and water delivery, three things we just don't spend any time doing anymore. But as technological advances such as better candles, then gas, then electricity, as well as pumps and then pipes for water, as well as coal and then gas, reduced the necessity of those last three tasks, there was a growing obsession with the first three, particularly cleaning. Having a clean home as a sign or moral cleanliness really got its start in the eary 19th century as people in Britain responded to a growing bed bug problem (and the only way to get rid of them was to clean), the dust and grime caused by coal fires, and the greater number of possessions brought about by growing middle-class prosperity. That women were predominantly--no, exclusively--in charge of housework, however, meant that it rarely received the respect or technological attention it deserved (and servants doing the work received even less respect and often resisted much technological help as a form of tradition and job security, it seems). In fact, only in the area of laundry, which really was back-breaking and constant, were labor-saving devices completely embraced. Though, even when time was saved, other tasks just filled the void--the total amount of housework just didn't seem to change.
Bender considers housework as a spiritual task, akin to those 19th-century angels in the house. While staying with two Amish families, she contemplates how the Amish see all work as a religious exercise, a "hands to work, hearts to God" way of thinking (though, officially, I think the Shakers might have coined that phrase). And there is no division between work and play--work is done playfully, with everyone helping--you've seen that barn-raising scene in Witness. There is no rushing work to get to play, to do something you want to do. Can you imagine? Without that work-play dichotomy, Bender believes there is more calm, more satisfaction, more contentment in Amish families. But without the Amish religious beliefs pressing her to see the divine in the ordinary and to forgo individuality and false pride, Bender finds it hard to transplant their work ethic and the resulting atmosphere to her harried Berkeley, CA life.
I don't dislike housework. I just like many activities much more. I loved having someone else clean my house, which lasted about a year, even if politically, as a feminist, I had some issues about paying another woman to do the work I didn't want to do. But she did a beautiful job, so much more thorough than I ever do. I swore when I had to let her go (when we needed to save to put a new roof on the house after the storm)--which was incredibly hard for me, as the NYTimes explored in an article at about the same time--that I would clean the house thoroughly every two weeks (basically, the interval of her visits).
And it never happened. First, I let the dusting slide. Completely. Then vaccuuming became less frequent. I think the only thing I kept up with was sweeping (but not mopping) and the bathrooms, two areas where you can really tell if you aren't doing your work. And why? Didn't I have pride in my house? Didn't I value cleanliness? Wasn't I ashamed of how I (didn't) keep the house? (For those of you who have never been to my house, I'm not talking about a filthy, disgusting house that would be a health code violation, but your usual disheveled family home with extra dust and clutter--nothing like the people who can't get out of their homes because of garbage and "collections" everywhere.) But, like Bender's typical "English," I preferred to rush or skip certain chores in order to do other things that weren't housework--playing with my kids, running errands, cooking a meal (which would qualify as housework in that first book), or, yep, blogging. I'm in no way Amish, but I think, even for a UU (which is about as far from Amish as you can probably get), there is a spiritual attraction to simple living, slowing down, focusing on the home (I'm remembering my post on eco-housewifery, so this obsession with housework goes back pretty far), prioritizing family, integrating spiritual beliefs with everyday activities. But how can I reconcile myself to cleaning? And how do you manage it?
I find time to squeeze in toilet cleaning and vaccuum and sweeping. But dusting? Or window cleaning? Or minor home repairs? And let's not even start with yardwork. I wouldn't want to give up the block of time with my kids to thoroughly clean the house on a regular basis. Or give up time with myself doing something I like. And that's where I differ from the Amish--they would never, as Bender indicates, put themselves before work. In fact, there wouldn't be that dichotomy of work and pleasure--they are one and the same divine thing. But it has to be done. And more and better than I do it. One sign of being an adult is knowing what has to be done and doing it even if you don't want to (like going to the dentist or spending money on, say, routine car maintenance). Right? And I want to model that for the kids. I've wondered if the fact that I never saw much less helped my mom around the house--she performed all of her own housekeeping while we were at school--has something to do with the fact that I am not that engaged in the work of housework (no, Mom, I'm not blaming you--Mama helped her folks out every weekend and she's as negligent and even more oblivious than me)--it's certainly not the way the Amish do it, as they have even the youngest kids working alongside the others (solves the "what do I do with the kids while I clean" problem, though). I want the kids to respect our home, even if sometimes, Mama and I disrespect it by ignoring housework and other tasks. We're not particularly "house-proud." Why is that? We love the house, wouldn't want to move, but don't put that much effort into it, not nearly what many of my mommy friends do. I think, in that respect, we're still growing up, from reckless apartment dwellers to real homeowners, in every sense of the word; it's been a slow transition, not in the least complicated by the fact that for the first 3+ years we lived here, we were almost never home because we worked long hours in the city and spent our weekends playing. And we had almost no idea what it really took to run a house. I think we're still learning.
In the end, though, inspired by Bender's musings, I asked myself the question that really underlies her book: what is important to me? For the rule-bound Amish living their religion, work is all-consuming and divine. I realized--not for the first time, but in this context--that my family is the most important thing to me. Creating a safe, happy, comfortable place for us all to explore both our own individualities but also to participate in community is my focus, my top priority. Because second on my list of importance is community. And beyond that, society. Taking care of people, helping them be safe and cared for, through helping out friends and neighbors, to social action and pastoral care through church. And in the end, the house--the housework is part of all of that. If I struggle against it, I'm unhappy. If it doesn't get done, our family doesn't function efficiently or happily. If I do it poorly or infrequently, I'm not helping my children understand their roles in a family or society. So while family comes first, the house--the physical structure and its contents--is central to the family in a way I hadn't quite understood before, even if I've been heading that way for a long time. So, while housework, even the house, will still not be my focus, it's going to be a larger part of our family.
It's a good thing it's going to be spring soon. We have a lot of cleaning to do.
Right after I read Sue Bender's other book, Everyday Sacred and that other history of housework!
I have been obsessed with housework recently.
No, no, not doing it, for the most part. Thinking about it. Theorizing, analyzing, philosophizing, pondering it.
Two books are at the root of my current obsession: Caroline Davidson's A Woman's Work is Never Done and Sue Bender's Plain and Simple (I have a third, Never Done, about American housework but haven't read it yet). The first book is a history of British housework, particularly its technological advances, from 1650-1950. The second is one woman's musings on her obsession with the Amish and her desire to transplant their calm, orderly, homey work ethic to her own life.
There were several things about housework that I hadn't considered before, namely that for hundreds of years, tending a house involved not only cooking and cleaning and laundry, but also lighting and heating and water delivery, three things we just don't spend any time doing anymore. But as technological advances such as better candles, then gas, then electricity, as well as pumps and then pipes for water, as well as coal and then gas, reduced the necessity of those last three tasks, there was a growing obsession with the first three, particularly cleaning. Having a clean home as a sign or moral cleanliness really got its start in the eary 19th century as people in Britain responded to a growing bed bug problem (and the only way to get rid of them was to clean), the dust and grime caused by coal fires, and the greater number of possessions brought about by growing middle-class prosperity. That women were predominantly--no, exclusively--in charge of housework, however, meant that it rarely received the respect or technological attention it deserved (and servants doing the work received even less respect and often resisted much technological help as a form of tradition and job security, it seems). In fact, only in the area of laundry, which really was back-breaking and constant, were labor-saving devices completely embraced. Though, even when time was saved, other tasks just filled the void--the total amount of housework just didn't seem to change.
Bender considers housework as a spiritual task, akin to those 19th-century angels in the house. While staying with two Amish families, she contemplates how the Amish see all work as a religious exercise, a "hands to work, hearts to God" way of thinking (though, officially, I think the Shakers might have coined that phrase). And there is no division between work and play--work is done playfully, with everyone helping--you've seen that barn-raising scene in Witness. There is no rushing work to get to play, to do something you want to do. Can you imagine? Without that work-play dichotomy, Bender believes there is more calm, more satisfaction, more contentment in Amish families. But without the Amish religious beliefs pressing her to see the divine in the ordinary and to forgo individuality and false pride, Bender finds it hard to transplant their work ethic and the resulting atmosphere to her harried Berkeley, CA life.
I don't dislike housework. I just like many activities much more. I loved having someone else clean my house, which lasted about a year, even if politically, as a feminist, I had some issues about paying another woman to do the work I didn't want to do. But she did a beautiful job, so much more thorough than I ever do. I swore when I had to let her go (when we needed to save to put a new roof on the house after the storm)--which was incredibly hard for me, as the NYTimes explored in an article at about the same time--that I would clean the house thoroughly every two weeks (basically, the interval of her visits).
And it never happened. First, I let the dusting slide. Completely. Then vaccuuming became less frequent. I think the only thing I kept up with was sweeping (but not mopping) and the bathrooms, two areas where you can really tell if you aren't doing your work. And why? Didn't I have pride in my house? Didn't I value cleanliness? Wasn't I ashamed of how I (didn't) keep the house? (For those of you who have never been to my house, I'm not talking about a filthy, disgusting house that would be a health code violation, but your usual disheveled family home with extra dust and clutter--nothing like the people who can't get out of their homes because of garbage and "collections" everywhere.) But, like Bender's typical "English," I preferred to rush or skip certain chores in order to do other things that weren't housework--playing with my kids, running errands, cooking a meal (which would qualify as housework in that first book), or, yep, blogging. I'm in no way Amish, but I think, even for a UU (which is about as far from Amish as you can probably get), there is a spiritual attraction to simple living, slowing down, focusing on the home (I'm remembering my post on eco-housewifery, so this obsession with housework goes back pretty far), prioritizing family, integrating spiritual beliefs with everyday activities. But how can I reconcile myself to cleaning? And how do you manage it?
I find time to squeeze in toilet cleaning and vaccuum and sweeping. But dusting? Or window cleaning? Or minor home repairs? And let's not even start with yardwork. I wouldn't want to give up the block of time with my kids to thoroughly clean the house on a regular basis. Or give up time with myself doing something I like. And that's where I differ from the Amish--they would never, as Bender indicates, put themselves before work. In fact, there wouldn't be that dichotomy of work and pleasure--they are one and the same divine thing. But it has to be done. And more and better than I do it. One sign of being an adult is knowing what has to be done and doing it even if you don't want to (like going to the dentist or spending money on, say, routine car maintenance). Right? And I want to model that for the kids. I've wondered if the fact that I never saw much less helped my mom around the house--she performed all of her own housekeeping while we were at school--has something to do with the fact that I am not that engaged in the work of housework (no, Mom, I'm not blaming you--Mama helped her folks out every weekend and she's as negligent and even more oblivious than me)--it's certainly not the way the Amish do it, as they have even the youngest kids working alongside the others (solves the "what do I do with the kids while I clean" problem, though). I want the kids to respect our home, even if sometimes, Mama and I disrespect it by ignoring housework and other tasks. We're not particularly "house-proud." Why is that? We love the house, wouldn't want to move, but don't put that much effort into it, not nearly what many of my mommy friends do. I think, in that respect, we're still growing up, from reckless apartment dwellers to real homeowners, in every sense of the word; it's been a slow transition, not in the least complicated by the fact that for the first 3+ years we lived here, we were almost never home because we worked long hours in the city and spent our weekends playing. And we had almost no idea what it really took to run a house. I think we're still learning.
In the end, though, inspired by Bender's musings, I asked myself the question that really underlies her book: what is important to me? For the rule-bound Amish living their religion, work is all-consuming and divine. I realized--not for the first time, but in this context--that my family is the most important thing to me. Creating a safe, happy, comfortable place for us all to explore both our own individualities but also to participate in community is my focus, my top priority. Because second on my list of importance is community. And beyond that, society. Taking care of people, helping them be safe and cared for, through helping out friends and neighbors, to social action and pastoral care through church. And in the end, the house--the housework is part of all of that. If I struggle against it, I'm unhappy. If it doesn't get done, our family doesn't function efficiently or happily. If I do it poorly or infrequently, I'm not helping my children understand their roles in a family or society. So while family comes first, the house--the physical structure and its contents--is central to the family in a way I hadn't quite understood before, even if I've been heading that way for a long time. So, while housework, even the house, will still not be my focus, it's going to be a larger part of our family.
It's a good thing it's going to be spring soon. We have a lot of cleaning to do.
Right after I read Sue Bender's other book, Everyday Sacred and that other history of housework!
Today's Not Their Birthday
Last week we celebrated the kiddos' not-quite half-birthdays (though, it was almost exactly what would have been their half-birthday if they'd been born on time!). Mama took the day off from work and we all went to school together. And it was so cute! I remember than in kindergarten, I got to wear a paper crown with my name on it (which I'm sure I kept for years)--and I thought that was very special. But this blows that out of the water. While playtime took place, one of the teachers helped them pick crown colors (pink and blue, surprise), special candles (pink and blue, surprise, surprise), and a special book for each of them (snowflakes and penguins. Snowflakes?). In the book, they each traced their hand and the teachers signed their names.
When playtime ended (we had fun painting, gluing, making playdough cookies, and reading) with "sit on a star" time, the other kids sang a song about "whose birthday is it today?" Bud and Sis put on their special crowns and the birthday capes (of which they did have two--we're not their first twins, of course) and promenaded to the special snack table with tablecloth and candles while the class sang a birthday song (but not the birthday song). Then I told stories about their first four years, separately, using pictures I'd brought for the occasion. The teacher lit one candle for each of their years. For Sis, who being older went first, I had a picture of her in the 15th-story window of a hotel in Boston as a 6 month old--she loved the view and has always been curious and fearless (a dangerous combo). Then a picture of her at the beach in NYC, with the wind blowing in her hair as she concentrates on the beach umbrella lock. Next, a picture of her reaching for a sea turtle at the aquarium; she loves animals. And finally a picture of her beaming proudly next to a drawing on our chalkboard at home. For Bud, there was a picture of him with his musical octopus as a baby and then a picture of him crawling around the Morgan at Mystic Seaport. Another picture of our music-loving Bud, as he holds a drum at Sturbridge. And finally, a picture of him (and everyone) at the baseball game at Yankee Stadium, still his #1 happy thought each night.
Afterwards, we all ate our snack and finished out the day at school with a story (one of our favorites, Mama, Do You Love Me?), an I-spy game, scarf dancing to a Preservation Hall CD, and a bean bag toss game (it was too cold to go outside, at 17F). We then celebrated the half-birthday by going to the "crunchy chicken" restaurant (Bertucci's). It's actually a sweet little tradition and I'll look forward to doing it next year, when it's their turn again. Can you imagine, there will be 5 pictures next time! Maybe it's good we don't usually count half-birthdays--they make time go even faster.
When playtime ended (we had fun painting, gluing, making playdough cookies, and reading) with "sit on a star" time, the other kids sang a song about "whose birthday is it today?" Bud and Sis put on their special crowns and the birthday capes (of which they did have two--we're not their first twins, of course) and promenaded to the special snack table with tablecloth and candles while the class sang a birthday song (but not the birthday song). Then I told stories about their first four years, separately, using pictures I'd brought for the occasion. The teacher lit one candle for each of their years. For Sis, who being older went first, I had a picture of her in the 15th-story window of a hotel in Boston as a 6 month old--she loved the view and has always been curious and fearless (a dangerous combo). Then a picture of her at the beach in NYC, with the wind blowing in her hair as she concentrates on the beach umbrella lock. Next, a picture of her reaching for a sea turtle at the aquarium; she loves animals. And finally a picture of her beaming proudly next to a drawing on our chalkboard at home. For Bud, there was a picture of him with his musical octopus as a baby and then a picture of him crawling around the Morgan at Mystic Seaport. Another picture of our music-loving Bud, as he holds a drum at Sturbridge. And finally, a picture of him (and everyone) at the baseball game at Yankee Stadium, still his #1 happy thought each night.
Afterwards, we all ate our snack and finished out the day at school with a story (one of our favorites, Mama, Do You Love Me?), an I-spy game, scarf dancing to a Preservation Hall CD, and a bean bag toss game (it was too cold to go outside, at 17F). We then celebrated the half-birthday by going to the "crunchy chicken" restaurant (Bertucci's). It's actually a sweet little tradition and I'll look forward to doing it next year, when it's their turn again. Can you imagine, there will be 5 pictures next time! Maybe it's good we don't usually count half-birthdays--they make time go even faster.
F***book, Part II
I'm on the record for not being a fan of Facebook, though, in many ways that is quite unfair of me, as I've never tried it. I have, however, given the topic a considerable amount of my spare thinking time. Why is that? Well, because usually when I don't like something, or don't understand something (particularly about myself), I keep thinking about it until I get a handle on it (wait til I get started on housework, which has occupied a considerable amount of my thought--but doing activity--time recently).
My view on social networking sites has basically been that I haven't wanted to engage in shallow or artificial relationships with people with whom I do not already interact. I have enough trouble keeping up with the family and friends with whom I'm already connected to add to the list kids from elementary school, summer camp, or college. But then why not just join and "friend" only those people already in my circle? I worry, then, that I would have to make tough choices--do I accept invitations from people I only sort of know through church or professionally? Especially if I'm giving "status updates" about weight loss, watering my garden, or what I did last night. I understand that you can't divide up your friends list into categories.
But, in a recent satire of the very popular "25 Random Things" list, which in a different guise has long made the rounds of email and blogs, I was struck by al the heartfelt comments of Facebookers. Most especially, I liked the idea of social networking sites as a new social paradigm. Email is just electronic mail, a form as old as writing itself, but what comes close to the structure and scope of Facebook? Not much. And so, the users are really working out the boundaries (or lack thereof) of a new kind of interaction. In the process, it's bound to look awkward to those of us not participating. But being a socially cautious individual, I think I'm going to wait until it gets its footing. I mean, it took me years to email and longer to blog. Maybe by the time my kids are on Facebook, I'll be more used to it.
By then, they'll be on to something else.
-=-=-=-=-
Of course, I love these kinds of questionnaires, as you know, and so I present, in blog form, 25 Random Things You Probably Already Know about Me that I Can Think of Right Now (big TMI warning):
1. I won the Home Ec award in 8th grade.
2. But I am more proud of being nominated for Chili Cook-off Queen in college.
3. "Speed Racer" was my first favorite tv show.
4. Snow White was my favorite Disney princess as a child (before Beauty came along) because she had dark hair.
5. At one time, I had 16 pen pals (before email).
6. I was the sponsor of the Clown Club when I taught school.
7. Tie-dye is one of my favorite arts and crafts.
8. I have recurring nightmares about hurricanes.
9. I love to type (I find it very relaxing). I think typing was the most useful class I took in high school.
10. I'm scared of earthquakes and never really like being in California.
11. I used to make my kids watch "Little Bear" because I liked it.
12. I totally have a crush on Orlando Bloom, but only in LOTR.
13. Culture Club and Wham! were my favorite bands as a tween and teen--and I saw them both in concert.
14. I have long had a working mental outline of a book I'm going to write someday; it's a food memoir.
15. I love to dress up to go to the local Renaissance Festivals.
16. One day, I would love to work as a costumed interpreter at a living history museum, preferrably in the kitchens.
17. I once got a zero (not a single step correct) on a math test in 5th grade.
18. But was secretary of the math club in high school because all my friends were in it.
19. And later voluntarily took calculus in college just to qualify for Phi Beta Kappa.
20. I have harbored thoughts of becoming a UU minister.
21. I once gave a 45-minute lecture to 1000 teachers wearing my turtleneck shirt inside out (luckily, I had a vest on over it and long hair covering the tag).
22. I know how to start a campfire with a tampon--the Girl Scouts taught me.
23. I subconsciously rub my feet together as I'm waking up (the cats love this).
24. I regularly take magazines from waiting rooms to finish reading them at home.
25. I pick my nose (no way to make that flaw into any kind of virtue). Aren't you glad you read all the way to the end?
My view on social networking sites has basically been that I haven't wanted to engage in shallow or artificial relationships with people with whom I do not already interact. I have enough trouble keeping up with the family and friends with whom I'm already connected to add to the list kids from elementary school, summer camp, or college. But then why not just join and "friend" only those people already in my circle? I worry, then, that I would have to make tough choices--do I accept invitations from people I only sort of know through church or professionally? Especially if I'm giving "status updates" about weight loss, watering my garden, or what I did last night. I understand that you can't divide up your friends list into categories.
But, in a recent satire of the very popular "25 Random Things" list, which in a different guise has long made the rounds of email and blogs, I was struck by al the heartfelt comments of Facebookers. Most especially, I liked the idea of social networking sites as a new social paradigm. Email is just electronic mail, a form as old as writing itself, but what comes close to the structure and scope of Facebook? Not much. And so, the users are really working out the boundaries (or lack thereof) of a new kind of interaction. In the process, it's bound to look awkward to those of us not participating. But being a socially cautious individual, I think I'm going to wait until it gets its footing. I mean, it took me years to email and longer to blog. Maybe by the time my kids are on Facebook, I'll be more used to it.
By then, they'll be on to something else.
-=-=-=-=-
Of course, I love these kinds of questionnaires, as you know, and so I present, in blog form, 25 Random Things You Probably Already Know about Me that I Can Think of Right Now (big TMI warning):
1. I won the Home Ec award in 8th grade.
2. But I am more proud of being nominated for Chili Cook-off Queen in college.
3. "Speed Racer" was my first favorite tv show.
4. Snow White was my favorite Disney princess as a child (before Beauty came along) because she had dark hair.
5. At one time, I had 16 pen pals (before email).
6. I was the sponsor of the Clown Club when I taught school.
7. Tie-dye is one of my favorite arts and crafts.
8. I have recurring nightmares about hurricanes.
9. I love to type (I find it very relaxing). I think typing was the most useful class I took in high school.
10. I'm scared of earthquakes and never really like being in California.
11. I used to make my kids watch "Little Bear" because I liked it.
12. I totally have a crush on Orlando Bloom, but only in LOTR.
13. Culture Club and Wham! were my favorite bands as a tween and teen--and I saw them both in concert.
14. I have long had a working mental outline of a book I'm going to write someday; it's a food memoir.
15. I love to dress up to go to the local Renaissance Festivals.
16. One day, I would love to work as a costumed interpreter at a living history museum, preferrably in the kitchens.
17. I once got a zero (not a single step correct) on a math test in 5th grade.
18. But was secretary of the math club in high school because all my friends were in it.
19. And later voluntarily took calculus in college just to qualify for Phi Beta Kappa.
20. I have harbored thoughts of becoming a UU minister.
21. I once gave a 45-minute lecture to 1000 teachers wearing my turtleneck shirt inside out (luckily, I had a vest on over it and long hair covering the tag).
22. I know how to start a campfire with a tampon--the Girl Scouts taught me.
23. I subconsciously rub my feet together as I'm waking up (the cats love this).
24. I regularly take magazines from waiting rooms to finish reading them at home.
25. I pick my nose (no way to make that flaw into any kind of virtue). Aren't you glad you read all the way to the end?
The Envelope, Please
But in New York, where a new study from the Center for an Urban Future, a
nonprofit research group in Manhattan, estimates it takes $123,322 to enjoy the
same middle-class life as someone earning $50,000 in Houston, extricating
oneself from steep bills can be difficult.
My parents are going to love that tidbit from the NYTimes article "You Try to Live on 500K in This Town." I'd love to say that CT is not 3x as expensive as Houston, but I bet it's 2x, which makes you wonder why Yankess paying these prices make fun of Southerners for being dumb.
And so, like almost all other Americans, both North and South, we are trying to economize. We've tried before, with little success, but now we had kids, only one income, higher expenses, a failing economy, and thus more impetus than ever before.
Our new system is based on envelopes. A plain old stack of small, manila envelopes with clasps. Each envelope is labeled with the categories we chose, including groceries/housewares, entertainment (dinners out, museum admissions), social (i.e. having parties and giving gifts), and one each for me and Mama. Each envelope gets a specific amount of cash each month. And that's it. We don't put certain things in envelopes, like gas, medical co-pays, or any of our regular monthly expenses--why keep money out of the bank for things that we already pay with credit cards or for surprise expenses? For that, we have our checking account. And a "bank" envelope for money leftover each month. It's not exactly Dave Ramsay's system, and he seems to be the envelope guru these days (though, I'm guessing the system has been around in its own way since we became a cash not a barter society), but it is definitely working for us.
Yep, it's working. I hate forking over "real" money for coffee and now that I've run out of all the money on my Starbucks cards, I'm drinking a lot less. Mainly, because I save my envelope money for stamp class, books, souvenirs from the city, etc. It's also keeping me in line at the grocery store, knowing I've got to stretch that envelope to the end of the month. I was more creative in the kitchen during the last week of January, as you can imagine. We intentionally chose reasonable amounts of money for each envelope--within our budgets but not (yet) unnecessarily restrictive. And it's definitely a learning experience--I look back on January and wonder how exactly those envelopes became so slim. But we keep all the receipts in each envelope to help us remember (and make notes on the envelopes).
It's not rocket science and it's long overdue for us. No doubt we're learning lessons we should have long ago. But when two women have incomes and no real expenses, as we did before 4 years ago, there wasn't much motivation. It wasn't a system that was going to get us through family life successfully, though, which took us a long while to realize (and then our more recent, non-envelope attempts to budget failed). So, like most Americans who have lived high on the proverbial hog til now, we're paying that proverbial piper (ooh, gotta love mixed proverbs). And it actually feels really good.
About Sick Kids
No, not mine. Not yet. But of course, it's the season and several of our little friends are sick (get well soon, you guys!).
Thus, this article in the NYTimes about keeping kids home from school is timely. If I read it correctly, it basically says don't worry about anything in the realm of colds except fever (they weren't talking about diarrhea or vomiting, which are in a whole different group of "sick"). Otherwise, they can go to school with coughs and runny noses (well, that's the doctors' opinion, but my school wouldn't be happy with excessive versions of either of these). Basically, germs are clever and have already spread to the other kids by the time your kid is sick; besides, your kid might not actually be contagious anymore. But, of course, do what your doctor and yourschool and mommy intuition say. Though, it might just mean you can go to playgroup!
And, be sure to blow your nose correctly: one nostril at a time. And take decongestants. Otherwise, you're propelling germs into your sinuses at alarming velocity and force.
Thus, this article in the NYTimes about keeping kids home from school is timely. If I read it correctly, it basically says don't worry about anything in the realm of colds except fever (they weren't talking about diarrhea or vomiting, which are in a whole different group of "sick"). Otherwise, they can go to school with coughs and runny noses (well, that's the doctors' opinion, but my school wouldn't be happy with excessive versions of either of these). Basically, germs are clever and have already spread to the other kids by the time your kid is sick; besides, your kid might not actually be contagious anymore. But, of course, do what your doctor and yourschool and mommy intuition say. Though, it might just mean you can go to playgroup!
And, be sure to blow your nose correctly: one nostril at a time. And take decongestants. Otherwise, you're propelling germs into your sinuses at alarming velocity and force.
Monday, February 9, 2009
"I'm Not So Sure"
We were headed to the zoo on Sunday after church to take advantage of the shining sun and 50F weather. Sis, who always pays attention when we're in the car, immediately noticed that Mama wasn't going the way I usually go (there are several ways you can get there from here).
"Mama, is this the right way to the zoo? I'm not so sure."
Back seat driving with Mama . . . . (a la "Sid the Science Kid," for those of you not in the know).
We got there, alright, and enjoyed all the usual animals--wolves, tigers, bear, lynx, ananconda, caiman, toucan, iguana, ocelot (though the new baby ocelot was hidden from view), and otters--until Bud slipped on some ice and got soaked. Luckily we'd already done our (indoor) picnic lunch (it was too windy to eat outside) and ridden the carousel, so we grabbed some ice cream and headed home.
The usual way.
"Mama, is this the right way to the zoo? I'm not so sure."
Back seat driving with Mama . . . . (a la "Sid the Science Kid," for those of you not in the know).
We got there, alright, and enjoyed all the usual animals--wolves, tigers, bear, lynx, ananconda, caiman, toucan, iguana, ocelot (though the new baby ocelot was hidden from view), and otters--until Bud slipped on some ice and got soaked. Luckily we'd already done our (indoor) picnic lunch (it was too windy to eat outside) and ridden the carousel, so we grabbed some ice cream and headed home.
The usual way.
New Cookbook
I'm trying a new (to me) cookbook from the library, Everyday Cooking with Dr. Dean Ornish, which was recommended to me by a veg friend who likes the quick and easy low-fat, vegetarian recipes. Well, here's one below and it sure was delicious. I think it was the lemon juice that really took it a step beyond the other Moroccan stew recipes I have. And all the colors are beautiful.
-=-=-=-=-
Chickpea Stew with Couscous
1 medium onion, diced
3 garlic coves, minced
2 cups vegetable broth
1 1/2 cups diced zucchini
1 large sweet potato, peeled, in 1/2" dice
1 cup diced red bell pepper
1 cup diced green bell pepper
1 cup diced, peeled tomato, canned or fresh, with juice
1 teaspoon cinnamon*
1 teaspoon ground coriander*
1/2 teaspoon cumin*
pinch cayenne (we omitted this)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon lemon jice
1-15 oz can chickpeas, drained, or 1/2 cups homemade
2 cups couscous
2 tablespoons minced parsley or cilantro
*I substituted 2 1/2 teaspoons Penzey's sweet curry powder for this and it was wonderful.
In a large pot, combine onion, garlic, and 1/4 cup vegetable broth (in fairness, I used a little olive oil to get in my daily guidelines for WW). Cook over moderate heat until liquid evaporates and onion is transparent, about 5 minutes. Add zucchini, sweet potato, bell peppers, tomato, cinnamon, coriander, cumin, cayenne, sat, and pepper. Simmer 5 minutes. Add remaining 1 3/4 cups broth and lemon juice. Bring to a simmer, cover, lower heat, and simmer gently until vegetables are just tender, about 5 more minutes (nope, took almost 15+). Stir in chickpeas and cook until chickpeas are hot. Keep stew warm. Serve over couscous. Garnish with minced parsley.
Everyday Cooking with Dr. Dean Ornish
-=-=-=-=-
Chickpea Stew with Couscous
1 medium onion, diced
3 garlic coves, minced
2 cups vegetable broth
1 1/2 cups diced zucchini
1 large sweet potato, peeled, in 1/2" dice
1 cup diced red bell pepper
1 cup diced green bell pepper
1 cup diced, peeled tomato, canned or fresh, with juice
1 teaspoon cinnamon*
1 teaspoon ground coriander*
1/2 teaspoon cumin*
pinch cayenne (we omitted this)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon lemon jice
1-15 oz can chickpeas, drained, or 1/2 cups homemade
2 cups couscous
2 tablespoons minced parsley or cilantro
*I substituted 2 1/2 teaspoons Penzey's sweet curry powder for this and it was wonderful.
In a large pot, combine onion, garlic, and 1/4 cup vegetable broth (in fairness, I used a little olive oil to get in my daily guidelines for WW). Cook over moderate heat until liquid evaporates and onion is transparent, about 5 minutes. Add zucchini, sweet potato, bell peppers, tomato, cinnamon, coriander, cumin, cayenne, sat, and pepper. Simmer 5 minutes. Add remaining 1 3/4 cups broth and lemon juice. Bring to a simmer, cover, lower heat, and simmer gently until vegetables are just tender, about 5 more minutes (nope, took almost 15+). Stir in chickpeas and cook until chickpeas are hot. Keep stew warm. Serve over couscous. Garnish with minced parsley.
Everyday Cooking with Dr. Dean Ornish
"Was Gommie a Chimpanzee?"
On Saturday, with none of the prior planning that is our trademark, we went to the American Museum of Natural History in the city. Since our successful visit to the Met last month, we had promised the kids a trip to the "big dinosaur museum." The morning of, however, Sis wasn't particularly keen to see the dinosaurs but was enticed to participate with promises of butterflies and bunnies. And we saw both.
First up, the museum's living butterfly exhibition, where you enter an 80F quonset hut filled with flowers and flitting butterflies. Brilliant Monarchs, spotted Owls, and, Sis's favorite, the shimmering Blue Morpho (a la Diego fame). "They're beautiful," crooned Bud. None of them actually landed on us, but we did see an educator feed an Owl butterfly some orange slices, its giant proboscis sucking the nectar. I liked how the room danced with colors. It was a great start to our visit.
Bud and I then headed to the main lobby to see the dinosaurs while Mama and Sis held back (I'm guessing she won't like Jurassic Park). Bud started chattering the minute he spotted them--look at how big, there's a baby, there are three, hey one is little-head-long-tail (our nickname for one of the dinosaurs in the Caillou game). On and on and on, to the particular amusement of the young couple next to us, who soon engaged Bud in a lively conversation about his favorite dinosaurs, his visit to the museum thus far, and the penguin he was holding up to see the dinosaurs (yes, Pengy and Amy the Bunny have now been to AMNH). He was very excited.
And became more so when we started touring the various dioramas, complete with animals from Africa, North America, and Asia. There were elephants, tigers, bears of all sorts, and so many things we couldn't identify. I think the North American hall was their favorite--Bud especially became excited upon spotting a white bunny in a diorama and raced off to find Sis, who was admiring a cottontail bunny in another section of the hall. Together they ran hand in hand to see the "xiao bai tu" (little white bunny). There were a few dioramas that gave us all pause, "Mommy, why is that zebra lying down with all those birds?" How do you explain carrion to a 3 1/2 year old on a happy family outing? Next gallery, please.
"Mama, that whale is as big as a . . . panda bear!!" Sis exclaimed upon seeing the Blue Whale in the Hall of Ocean Life. Neither one of us actually understood her comparison, in that pandas just aren't that big, but it worked for her and she proceeded to wander the large hall admiring turtles, dolphin, manatees, walruses (walri??), sea lions, and the like. Bud, on the other hand, didn't like that hanging whale at all, nor the whale sounds emmanating from the ceiling. It took all our coaxing to get him in the room and he quite decidedly announced when we had finished our single circuit around the room that we'd done what we had set out to do.
First up, the museum's living butterfly exhibition, where you enter an 80F quonset hut filled with flowers and flitting butterflies. Brilliant Monarchs, spotted Owls, and, Sis's favorite, the shimmering Blue Morpho (a la Diego fame). "They're beautiful," crooned Bud. None of them actually landed on us, but we did see an educator feed an Owl butterfly some orange slices, its giant proboscis sucking the nectar. I liked how the room danced with colors. It was a great start to our visit.
Bud and I then headed to the main lobby to see the dinosaurs while Mama and Sis held back (I'm guessing she won't like Jurassic Park). Bud started chattering the minute he spotted them--look at how big, there's a baby, there are three, hey one is little-head-long-tail (our nickname for one of the dinosaurs in the Caillou game). On and on and on, to the particular amusement of the young couple next to us, who soon engaged Bud in a lively conversation about his favorite dinosaurs, his visit to the museum thus far, and the penguin he was holding up to see the dinosaurs (yes, Pengy and Amy the Bunny have now been to AMNH). He was very excited.
And became more so when we started touring the various dioramas, complete with animals from Africa, North America, and Asia. There were elephants, tigers, bears of all sorts, and so many things we couldn't identify. I think the North American hall was their favorite--Bud especially became excited upon spotting a white bunny in a diorama and raced off to find Sis, who was admiring a cottontail bunny in another section of the hall. Together they ran hand in hand to see the "xiao bai tu" (little white bunny). There were a few dioramas that gave us all pause, "Mommy, why is that zebra lying down with all those birds?" How do you explain carrion to a 3 1/2 year old on a happy family outing? Next gallery, please.
"Mama, that whale is as big as a . . . panda bear!!" Sis exclaimed upon seeing the Blue Whale in the Hall of Ocean Life. Neither one of us actually understood her comparison, in that pandas just aren't that big, but it worked for her and she proceeded to wander the large hall admiring turtles, dolphin, manatees, walruses (walri??), sea lions, and the like. Bud, on the other hand, didn't like that hanging whale at all, nor the whale sounds emmanating from the ceiling. It took all our coaxing to get him in the room and he quite decidedly announced when we had finished our single circuit around the room that we'd done what we had set out to do.
Lunchtime. Always their favorite part. This time with "dino-nuggets." And lots of fruit.
Just to do their two favorite things together, we hit the gift shop next. We have a rule of thumb about gift shops--the kids can choose something that is approximately the cost of admission and approved by us. Bud picked up a giant stuffed snake but decided on a pop-up book on dinosaurs. Sis wanted the 50-piece safari playset but got a much smaller one with different animals. I chose a book, How to Visit the Science Museum with Your Grandmother, and Mama got her requisite patch and pin.
There was a special fair at AMNH on Saturday, "Polar Weekend," featuring booths about various polar explorations, polar gear, polar environmental issues, and native cultures of the polar regions such as the Sami of northern Scandinavia and the Inuit. We looked through microscopes, made penquin popsicle stick puppets, pretended to build a penguin nest with tongs and rocks, made UV bead bracelets, watched a video of a walrus eating, drilled a block of ice with a giant screw-thingy, crawled inside traditional Sami tents and high-tech expeditionary tents, and finally went to hear a concert on traditional Inuit throat singing by the sister act Nukariik. The kiddos sat mesmerized for almost the whole performance, evening singing along to the audience participation part. I think they liked the way the songs mimicked nature, like seagulls, the river, and the mosquito. Mama and I were amazed (and reminded of Tuvan throat singing from that movie, Genghis Blues).
As we were leaving, I remembered how Sis and Bud have repeatedly asked me to see their bones. They are very interested in their bones, being able to feel but not see them. And there was a life-size human skeleton, missing all the "squishy bits," so we talked about bones, tapping our teeth to get a sense of the texture, counting ribs for kicks, and in general giggling about human bodies. Next to the human skeleton was that of a chimpanzee. I had already mentioned earlier this week that humans were "related" to apes and so I pointed out the comparison and reminded them that humans had evolved from apes. This of course was confusing and led to the best question of the day--you guessed it, the title of this post: "Was Gommie a chimpanzee?" I think it's going to take a few more visits to get that straightened out.
But on the way out the door, we asked the kids, now veteran NYC museum-goers, if they'd rather take Gommie to the science museum or the art museum. Gommie, looks like you better bone up on your biology, we're going back to AMNH!
Sunday, February 8, 2009
It's Yellow! It's Brown! It's Grass!!!
After about 6 weeks of snow and ice on the ground, we've had a major thaw--it's been over 50F today!!!!! And we can see the earth! It really is a wonderful sight. I think the snow was making me a little claustrophobic, in the sense that I could only easily trod on our sidewalk and bits of our driveway. But now I can wander across the whole yard, even if it is a wet, puddly, soggy, spongy, muddy mess.
Friday, February 6, 2009
I'm Sitting on the Toilet
Yep, sitting on the closed toilet, with the laptop on my legs. Bud is in the bedroom watching "Ni Hao, Kai-lan" and the Ladybug Festival, while Sis is having her Friday afternoon bath (Fridays are wonky here--pjs all day, tv in bed in the morning, baths in the middle of the day, and today we made cookies).
I wasn't done blogging but couldn't let her play alone in the tub. So, I brought my "work" with me. She plays by herself anyway, and I was almost done. But I wanted to be able to hear her clearly and be nearby.
And then she wanted a spoon. From the kitchen. Downstairs. What to do? I didn't want to leave her in the tub by herself, so I had her stand outside of it on the mat while I raced downstairs for a spoon.
Twice.
Because the first spoon wasn't right, nor was the second, actually. Bud fetched the third, being done with his episode.
So now they are both in the tub, with spoons and paints and cups and boats and plastic animals and some olive oil for their dry skin. And I'm on the toilet typing about what they are doing.
Parenting is as wonky as our Fridays.
So, the question is: at what age would you let your kids bathe alone?
I wasn't done blogging but couldn't let her play alone in the tub. So, I brought my "work" with me. She plays by herself anyway, and I was almost done. But I wanted to be able to hear her clearly and be nearby.
And then she wanted a spoon. From the kitchen. Downstairs. What to do? I didn't want to leave her in the tub by herself, so I had her stand outside of it on the mat while I raced downstairs for a spoon.
Twice.
Because the first spoon wasn't right, nor was the second, actually. Bud fetched the third, being done with his episode.
So now they are both in the tub, with spoons and paints and cups and boats and plastic animals and some olive oil for their dry skin. And I'm on the toilet typing about what they are doing.
Parenting is as wonky as our Fridays.
So, the question is: at what age would you let your kids bathe alone?
Married With Children
Yet another article has come out about the effects of children on marriage and how couples just don't spend enough time together.
And on the very day I read it, Mama and I had a date planned. She'd taken the day off for the kiddos' half-birthday celebration at school but our babysitter was still coming in the afternoon. And so we went out. Some errands, inevitably, but lots of fun at the craft store looking through the sale section and $1 rubber stamps. She went as crazy as I usually do, which was fun. And we perused the bookstore, checking out prospective titles for our book club. I also picked up Fresh from the Vegetarian Slow Cooker, with a Christmas gift card, a book whose recipes I've tried and really like (such as All-Day Minestrone). It was a real treat, even if we didn't do anything extra-special.
We rarely hire our babysitter for evenings (and, as a delayed comment on Motherlode's discussion of the babysitter shortage for the inauguration, we only use our one trusted babysitter who has taken care of them two afternoons after school for almost 4 years. Grandmas are good in a pinch. :) ). A special night out, with babysitter, could quite easily come to $150 (that's about $70 for her, $60 dinner for us, plus coffee or trinkets); even if we do a freebie evening at the bookstore with no dinner, the babysitter would still set us back. So we don't indulge often. Unless Gommie is here to do the free babysitting. We're lucky, though, in that the children go to bed between 6:30-7, which means every night is a childfree night, even if we don't usually treat it like date night. Maybe we should. That's one of the reasons behind the book club, something new and different for us to do that's just about us.
Because we don't want to wait til the nest is empty.
(And besides:
But keeping a marriage vibrant is a never-ending job. Deciding together to have
a child and sharing in child-rearing do not immunize a marriage. Indeed,
collaborative couples can face other problems. They often embark on such an
intense style of parenting that they end up paying less attention to each other.
Parents today spend much more time with their children than they did 40 years
ago.
And on the very day I read it, Mama and I had a date planned. She'd taken the day off for the kiddos' half-birthday celebration at school but our babysitter was still coming in the afternoon. And so we went out. Some errands, inevitably, but lots of fun at the craft store looking through the sale section and $1 rubber stamps. She went as crazy as I usually do, which was fun. And we perused the bookstore, checking out prospective titles for our book club. I also picked up Fresh from the Vegetarian Slow Cooker, with a Christmas gift card, a book whose recipes I've tried and really like (such as All-Day Minestrone). It was a real treat, even if we didn't do anything extra-special.
We rarely hire our babysitter for evenings (and, as a delayed comment on Motherlode's discussion of the babysitter shortage for the inauguration, we only use our one trusted babysitter who has taken care of them two afternoons after school for almost 4 years. Grandmas are good in a pinch. :) ). A special night out, with babysitter, could quite easily come to $150 (that's about $70 for her, $60 dinner for us, plus coffee or trinkets); even if we do a freebie evening at the bookstore with no dinner, the babysitter would still set us back. So we don't indulge often. Unless Gommie is here to do the free babysitting. We're lucky, though, in that the children go to bed between 6:30-7, which means every night is a childfree night, even if we don't usually treat it like date night. Maybe we should. That's one of the reasons behind the book club, something new and different for us to do that's just about us.
Because we don't want to wait til the nest is empty.
(And besides:
Indeed, the researcher Ellen Galinsky has found that most children don’t want to
spend as much time with their parents as parents assume; they just want their
parents to be more relaxed when they are together. )
The Answers, Part I
Here we go:
- Women's health, and why we don't take care of ourselves (I'm "breaking up" with my GP and having trouble getting positive references to a new doctor): I won't go into detail here about why I'm dumping my GP (let's just say she either can't keep a chart or has absolutely no idea who I am; neither is good), but I am. And I've thought of it before. But each time I query my friends about their GPs, I generally get these responses: I don't like mine so I don't go, and I don't have one because I never have time to go. Neither of these is good. It means we're not taking care of ourselves. Sure the chance that most of us currently have anything life-threatening is relatively small, being for the most part not-at-risk, mid-30 year old women, but that doesn't mean we don't have the beginnings of servious, life-threatening things. For my own part, I have a 40% chance of developing Type 2 diabetes in the next 7 years because I had gestational diabetes when I was pregnant (something THAT GP has to ask me each time we talk; she is obsessed. But then she never remembers. And I had called her about my back not my sugars. And then she thought it was my feet. Fool). Which is one of the main reasons I've been trying to lose weight (said GP thinks dropping 30 lbs would eliminate most of the risk. I'm trying). But I need to have someone I can trust to talk to, not someone I dread calling every 16 months, especially because I avoid having my annual. As my PT said, it's silly. Especially now that I have a couple of kiddos who I want to be healthy for. And you, my friends, do too.
- Mama and I are starting our own book club. First up, probably Kingsolver's The Bean Trees (I know, I can't believe I haven't read this either). See, Mama doesn't want to talk to me just about the news anymore. Or work. Or even the kids. Perfectly understandable. And once we go through our days, what's left? So we're starting our own book club by choosing a genre that neither of us has much experience with: contemporary fiction. As you can tell from the list we started compiling (and, darn it, Miss T, I totally forgot which ones you had suggested; please email or comment), we are thinking predominantly women writers and award-winners. We got one copy of a few of those but will pick up the second copy at the library this weekend. Though, now we think we are starting with Brooks's March.
- Those octuplets: religion, reproduction, and multiples. Though, maybe I shouldn't start that. Okay, I'm starting. I'm not going to comment on the woman's marital status, employment history, or existing children. I don't really have a right to sit in judgment on her, even if tax dollars are being spent on her and her 14 children. I certainly wouldn't have wanted people judging us as lesbians who received fertility treatments and had multiples (though, we actually weren't supposed to, but that's another story. So, we consider having twins a miracle, even with all the science involved). I do want to talk about medical ethics. I believe, even as someone pro-choice who believes it is the woman's right to choose, that it is medically unethical to enable an octuplet pregnancy. Now, I haven't read too many details about the actual implantation (forgive any misuse of terms--in vitro wasn't our thing and I don't know the lingo), though one article seemed to imply that doctors weren't needed. Which then means this isn't really medical ethics but business ethics, of which I am afraid there are almost none. But for doctors involved with higher-order multiples, particularly fertility specialists who transfer numerous embryos and then try to talk oftentimes desperate impregnated women into reduction (knowing that for many women this is akin to abortion and completely untenable and against their religious or spiritual beliefs), there really ought to be some guidelines--I'm not talking forced abortions, but stopping the possibility of higher-order multiples before conception. I'm uncomfortable saying "laws." But I think there is a public cost, unless the family sells their story to cable television to pay for the extreme cost of having, say, twins and sextuplets. Indeed, isn't it almost child endangerment, since the children are at risk for multiple health problems? That makes doctors negligible and liable, right? (because of course hurting the pocket book is the only way to stop some medical practices, and some business ones). You can't tell me that these octuplets are going to be okay, physically. And even if they are, will the next ones be?
- Crayons vs. markers: I miss crayons. My kids mainly like markers. But I don't think markers, even in their wonderful array of colors--though, it's never 96, is it?--have the subtlety or flexibility of crayons. But they always choose markers. Luckily, they forget to cap them. And so when our markers run out, I'm pushing the crayons. Hey, the teachers say it's better for their fine motor skills, so I'm doing it for them . . .
- Snow cream v.3 with honey (and snow vs. rain): We tried a version of snow cream with honey. But it wasn't very good. Too grainy, not sweet, with an overpoweringly strong flavor of honey overwhelming the cream. But it was how Little Bear did it originally, so we tried it. And as we did, I wondered when, if ever, I will quit doing something special whenever it snows. We've had a lot of snow this winter--almost as if snow were rain and very common (I never make a big deal out of rain. I'm from East Texas, so I'm so over rain, even if I do love a good thunderstorm. As long as the trees stay in the ground)--but everytime it snows, we do something special. After living in the north since 1993 (off and on), I still think snow is special. Even if it's better with sweetened condensed milk!
- Making valentines: The school Valentine's Day celebration is next week and we need unaddressed valentines for each member of the class and for the teachers. And so, I've made multiple trips to the craft store for doilies, punches, stamps, foamies, and other craft supplies. Wednesday we went to work. Bud loved the punches and doilies; Sis preferred the foamies. Each made about half of the required school valentines, which is why we got a head start. We'll probably do it again today. And they had such a good time, thinking of the friends who would get them, trying new techniques so that each card looked different. So, even if they are a little sticky, these valentines cards are very heartfelt.
- Competitive Dieting: The "Big Loser" is big. And I've never seen it. As a rule, I don't like watching people struggle with personal issues for entertainment; it's exploitative (sizism at its worst), even if the participants and audience don't think so. What I have read about it says it's also unrealistic and unhealthy. Not my kind of recreational tv. Of course, I'm fat myself so I have issues. But people love it. My friends (who read this blog) love it and are even participating in their own versions. And, apparently, those home-grown diet competitions can be effective, especially for men for whom diets are ineffective or, at its misogynistic best, a girl-thing. Most of my friends have heard me rant about this. And so, I have to admit, especially because I try to be honest when I'm at my judgmental and hypocritical best, I've entered into a diet wager. Just $5 a week. Not giving any more details. I'm too competitive for that! Let's see if it works.
- Cooking dangerously with children: I love reading about Dexter's experiences in the kitchen. But his dad is a few steps ahead of me. Until very recently, my kids have been restricted to baked goods--cookies, cakes, pies are safe before they go in the oven. They know not to stick anything into a moving mixer and stand far away when I call out loudly that I'm opening the oven door. I always leave the oven light one when we're baking so they have a visuall reminder that it is hot. But recently, Bud has wanted to branch out. He likes to make my coffee. He's got all the steps down (we have a Keurig) and I add milk immediately so it doesn't stay hot for long. Now, though, he wants to scramble eggs, stir soup, brown things. And I let him. He stands beside the stove (there is front and side access, and he can get closer without leaning from the side, though there are a few inches of protective countertop) on a chair and I give him my longest wooden spoon or plastic spatula. And I stand there and watch. And he has a field day stirring and sloshing food. He's doing the cooking. And we both love it. Though, I don't think we are going to try Dexter's fried kale recipe anytime soon.
"I Want to be a Kiddo When I Grow Up"
It started with coffee.
Bud now helps me make my daily cups of coffee and tea (we have a Keurig, so this is easier and safer than it sounds--lots of enclosed cups and buttons to push). But I always remind him that it is hot and to be careful. Today, I explained that Goo had burned himself when he was a toddler by spilling a hot cup of coffee on himself. He went to the hospital with severe burns and was there for awhile. Sis, hearing a story about Goo, came into the kitchen.
"Was he all alone?" Sis asked.
"No, Ar-Ma went with him. Because, you know, Ma is Goo's mommy."
"That is so weird . . . . Goo doesn't live with her," Sis pondered.
"No, he lives at school. When kiddos grow up they leave home."
"I want to be a kiddo when I grow up. I don't want to leave. Ever!" Sis exclaimed.
And I said okay.
Bud now helps me make my daily cups of coffee and tea (we have a Keurig, so this is easier and safer than it sounds--lots of enclosed cups and buttons to push). But I always remind him that it is hot and to be careful. Today, I explained that Goo had burned himself when he was a toddler by spilling a hot cup of coffee on himself. He went to the hospital with severe burns and was there for awhile. Sis, hearing a story about Goo, came into the kitchen.
"Was he all alone?" Sis asked.
"No, Ar-Ma went with him. Because, you know, Ma is Goo's mommy."
"That is so weird . . . . Goo doesn't live with her," Sis pondered.
"No, he lives at school. When kiddos grow up they leave home."
"I want to be a kiddo when I grow up. I don't want to leave. Ever!" Sis exclaimed.
And I said okay.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Quickie
Do you read novels?
We are looking for suggestions for post-WWII (closer to the end of the 20th century) fiction to read, such as:
We are looking for suggestions for post-WWII (closer to the end of the 20th century) fiction to read, such as:
- E. Annie Proulx, The Shipping News
- Doris Lessing, The Golden Notebook
- Zadie Smith, On Beauty: A Novel
- Snow Falling on Cedars (I don't know why this one; the title keeps coming to mind)
- Kate Atkinson, Behind the Scenes at the Museum
- Stef Penney, The Tenderness of Wolves
- Susan Sontag, In America
- Geraldine Brooks, March
Ok, that's a quirky list. And it's not all-encompassing, not nearly so. Just something of what we are thinking. Google searches of contemporary lit syllabi and reading group lists aren't exactly generating what we are looking for, though we're not sure what that is. Not light beach reading, but doesn't have to be a Booker Prize or National Book Award winner. Come on, Mom, break out all those old AAUW reading lists! Fiction, though, for now.
No murders of children or child sexual abuse, please.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Stuff
Okay, I'm definitely falling down on the job with posting but am keeping up with my other stuff so . . . just a quick list so I know where to pick up:
- Half-birthdays
- Kids want to go to Mystic or Sturbridge
- Crayons vs. markers
- Snow cream v.3 with honey (and snow vs. rain)
- Making valentines
- Motherlode on multiples and on coats
- Mama's book club
- competitive dieting
- Nazis in the news (the priest, the pope, and the doctor)
- Married with children and our valentine's date
- Cooking dangerously with children
I think that's it for now, though, I'm not sure I ever caught up with my last list. Oh, well, if you want something long, read below.
"Where Did People Come From?"
We were talking about dinosaurs at the museum. And Sis said she would be scared if there was one in a cage that roared. I reminded her that there aren't any dinosuars anymore, that they disappeared a long time ago.
"How long? Before I was a baby?" she asked.
"Yes, before you were born. Before I was born. Even before Gommie was born. In fact, there were no people yet."
"No people yet?" Sis wondered.
"Were there houses?" Bud interjected.
"Nope, no houses. No people."
"Where did people come from?" Sis asked just as Bud said, "Were the people in the tummies?"
Deep breath. How did we get to evolution so quickly? "See, there were animals. And some animals, like apes and chimpanzees, changed into people. Like magic."
Silence.
"So, see Sis, we're actually related to animals."
She thought about this and concluded, "So I can be an animal scientist!"
Of course you can.
"How long? Before I was a baby?" she asked.
"Yes, before you were born. Before I was born. Even before Gommie was born. In fact, there were no people yet."
"No people yet?" Sis wondered.
"Were there houses?" Bud interjected.
"Nope, no houses. No people."
"Where did people come from?" Sis asked just as Bud said, "Were the people in the tummies?"
Deep breath. How did we get to evolution so quickly? "See, there were animals. And some animals, like apes and chimpanzees, changed into people. Like magic."
Silence.
"So, see Sis, we're actually related to animals."
She thought about this and concluded, "So I can be an animal scientist!"
Of course you can.
Simply the Best
This is simply the best black bean soup I've ever made. And I think the secret is twofold: you puree the beans and you add bay leaves. And it is so simple! I made the proportions below but think you could easily double it (i.e. use the whole bag of beans) so that you could have even more for the next day. And it is healthy. I might make it again tomorrow!
-=-=-=-=-
JD's Black Bean Soup
1/2 lb dried black beans, rinsed and sorted
olive oil
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
1 onion, chopped
4 cups water
1-2 bay leaves (depending on size)
salt, pepper to taste
Prep black beans in your favorite way (either overnight soak, or 5 minute boil and then 1 hour soak). Drain.
Saute onion and garlic in a little olive oil. Add beans, bay leaves, water, salt and pepper. Cook until tender. Adjust seasonings.
DO NOT DRAIN. Puree using immersion or regular blender.
Serve.
My note: I think you could probably drain the beans and then puree them to make a good black bean dip. Also, this would probably be good with a chopped green pepper, too.
playgroup friend JD
-=-=-=-=-
JD's Black Bean Soup
1/2 lb dried black beans, rinsed and sorted
olive oil
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
1 onion, chopped
4 cups water
1-2 bay leaves (depending on size)
salt, pepper to taste
Prep black beans in your favorite way (either overnight soak, or 5 minute boil and then 1 hour soak). Drain.
Saute onion and garlic in a little olive oil. Add beans, bay leaves, water, salt and pepper. Cook until tender. Adjust seasonings.
DO NOT DRAIN. Puree using immersion or regular blender.
Serve.
My note: I think you could probably drain the beans and then puree them to make a good black bean dip. Also, this would probably be good with a chopped green pepper, too.
playgroup friend JD
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Spirituality Matters
Recently, I have been inspired and challenged by our minister's sermons and workshops. One of her themes this year (a church year in UUism follows the school year, so we're about halfway done) has been thinking outside the box about our faith and our church specifically. So, while last year found me considering the spiritual aspects of parenting, the nature of compassionate care, and the radicality of hospitality, this year finds me thinking about personal belief systems and enacting my beliefs on a daily basis.
The whole family attended a morning craft workshop on "Sacred Vessels" a few weeks ago. In her introduction, our minister mentioned a book entitled Everyday Sacred in which a woman considers an empty Buddhist begging bowl as a vehicle for her creativity and desire for simple living (okay, bear with me, I haven't read the book but now really want to. And the author's other book on living with the Amish, Plain and Simple). And so we were encouraged to consider how we like to preserve the sacred in our lives--in picture frames, in journals, in boxes--and to decorate those with recycled art materials on hand. I decoupaged two frames with tissue paper, as did Mama (though hers was very geometric and mine was more free-form), while Sis and Bud decorated boxes. And while the sacred vessels we made are still in my car (being extremely cat un-friendly because of pipe cleaners everywhere), the time we created together creating was sacred.
One sermon in January defined and explored credos, personal creeds or belief systems that guide an individual's life choices. The minister shared hers and encouraged us to think on ours. Can I boil my belief system down to a few short sentences (hmmm, given my propensity for verbosity, probably not)? Until her sermon, I had gladly embraced the 7 Principles of Unitarian Universalism:
1. The inherent worth and dignity of every person;
2. Justice, equity and compassion in human relations;
3. Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations;
4. A free and responsible search for truth and meaning;
5. The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and in society at large;
6. The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all;
7. Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.
I try, when I am trying to make a choice from answering a request to going grocery shopping, to consider principles 1 and 7: am I respecting the inherent worth of this person or the interdependence of the world in which we live? So for a credo, I want to change that wording, make it my own, as our minister encouraged. When I figure it out, I'll let you know. But the process of boiling it all down really clarifies my thinking and, hopefully, my actions. I guess, in a way even, it will help clarify and concretize the mission of my life (more on that below).
Another recent sermon was on "Living the No-Regrets Life." Beginning with the jubilant, mission- and life-affirming email astronaut Laurel Clark (a UU from Racine, WA) sent from the Space Shuttle Columbia the day before it disintegrated upon re-entry, our minister posed a question, "what would I have to do to reach the end of my days and be able to say I have lived my life with no regrets?"
Immediately, the little things that we obsess about daily fall by the wayside--who really dies regretting refinishing the basement (or not) or not getting Christmas cards out on time? Who says, "I should've vaccuumed more"? No, this is bigger stuff. The stuff I think about more now that I have kids.
Am I kind? Am I patient? Am I dependable? Am I a good friend/mother/spouse/daughter/sister? Did I live in the present enough to remember it, to cherish it, in the future?
Beyond my personal relationships, what is my larger mission? Raising kind, loving, generous kids? As Dorothea states in Middlemarch, making life less difficult for others through social action and particularly my work in pastoral care? Sharing my knowledge of art with others to help bring more beauty, creativity, insight, and enjoyment into their lives? I wonder if I had not completed my dissertation would I have regretted that? Will I regret it if I never go back to work full-time? If I choose my family mission above my career mission? Or if I redefine my art-mission so that it fits into my family life?
One regret clearly, strongly, painfully came to me as I sat in service, though. I regret not seeing my family in Texas more. And so, while it might take some logistical-hurdle jumping, we're going to try--no, we're going to do it!--to see my family here, there, or in between more than 2-3 times a year. Because at the end of my life, or theirs, I will regret that we didn't see each other more.
And it's these kinds of insights that get me up and to church early on a Sunday morning. I wouldn't have missed these lessons, these insights, for all the sleep in the world.
The whole family attended a morning craft workshop on "Sacred Vessels" a few weeks ago. In her introduction, our minister mentioned a book entitled Everyday Sacred in which a woman considers an empty Buddhist begging bowl as a vehicle for her creativity and desire for simple living (okay, bear with me, I haven't read the book but now really want to. And the author's other book on living with the Amish, Plain and Simple). And so we were encouraged to consider how we like to preserve the sacred in our lives--in picture frames, in journals, in boxes--and to decorate those with recycled art materials on hand. I decoupaged two frames with tissue paper, as did Mama (though hers was very geometric and mine was more free-form), while Sis and Bud decorated boxes. And while the sacred vessels we made are still in my car (being extremely cat un-friendly because of pipe cleaners everywhere), the time we created together creating was sacred.
One sermon in January defined and explored credos, personal creeds or belief systems that guide an individual's life choices. The minister shared hers and encouraged us to think on ours. Can I boil my belief system down to a few short sentences (hmmm, given my propensity for verbosity, probably not)? Until her sermon, I had gladly embraced the 7 Principles of Unitarian Universalism:
1. The inherent worth and dignity of every person;
2. Justice, equity and compassion in human relations;
3. Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations;
4. A free and responsible search for truth and meaning;
5. The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and in society at large;
6. The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all;
7. Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.
I try, when I am trying to make a choice from answering a request to going grocery shopping, to consider principles 1 and 7: am I respecting the inherent worth of this person or the interdependence of the world in which we live? So for a credo, I want to change that wording, make it my own, as our minister encouraged. When I figure it out, I'll let you know. But the process of boiling it all down really clarifies my thinking and, hopefully, my actions. I guess, in a way even, it will help clarify and concretize the mission of my life (more on that below).
Another recent sermon was on "Living the No-Regrets Life." Beginning with the jubilant, mission- and life-affirming email astronaut Laurel Clark (a UU from Racine, WA) sent from the Space Shuttle Columbia the day before it disintegrated upon re-entry, our minister posed a question, "what would I have to do to reach the end of my days and be able to say I have lived my life with no regrets?"
Immediately, the little things that we obsess about daily fall by the wayside--who really dies regretting refinishing the basement (or not) or not getting Christmas cards out on time? Who says, "I should've vaccuumed more"? No, this is bigger stuff. The stuff I think about more now that I have kids.
No regrets means living our conscience. No regrets means answering our
hearts' calling. No regrets means marching, dancing, twirling and singing
to the beat of our own drummer . . . but if we don't move, if we don't act, then
what???? Missed opportunities and regrets, wishes and what ifs, wondering,
longing for opportunities we allowed to slip through our fingers and toes, or
even to march on by as we sat watching.
Am I kind? Am I patient? Am I dependable? Am I a good friend/mother/spouse/daughter/sister? Did I live in the present enough to remember it, to cherish it, in the future?
Beyond my personal relationships, what is my larger mission? Raising kind, loving, generous kids? As Dorothea states in Middlemarch, making life less difficult for others through social action and particularly my work in pastoral care? Sharing my knowledge of art with others to help bring more beauty, creativity, insight, and enjoyment into their lives? I wonder if I had not completed my dissertation would I have regretted that? Will I regret it if I never go back to work full-time? If I choose my family mission above my career mission? Or if I redefine my art-mission so that it fits into my family life?
One regret clearly, strongly, painfully came to me as I sat in service, though. I regret not seeing my family in Texas more. And so, while it might take some logistical-hurdle jumping, we're going to try--no, we're going to do it!--to see my family here, there, or in between more than 2-3 times a year. Because at the end of my life, or theirs, I will regret that we didn't see each other more.
And it's these kinds of insights that get me up and to church early on a Sunday morning. I wouldn't have missed these lessons, these insights, for all the sleep in the world.
It's a Mad, Mad World
I've been contemplating for a few days now the various posts about anger, including Parenting.com's original article about a survey of 1,000 "representative" moms at MomConnection, Lisa Belkin then addressed the survey in "Are All Moms Mad at Dad?" setting off a barrage of comments, with a follow-up about asking for help. The original survey, summarized by Martha Brockenbrough at Parenting.com, basically found that
What is going on here? There have been several ideas floated by commentors: men are bad boys, women are whiny perfectionists, the anger is not as widespread as the survey seems to indicate, and motherhood is hard and does generate intense emotions. I didn't read all the comments on Belkin's original post so I don't know if anyone questioned the gendered basis of this survey. Are co-parents mad at other co-parents, i.e. are all mommies mad at mamas?
I have had my moments of being mad, furious, angry and full of rage from the depth of my soul about both big issues and little issues since we had kids. A kind of anger that surprised me in its ferocity, its unfamiliarity, its irrationality, its power. Was I actually mad at Mama? Sometimes. About dumb stuff, about all the stuff the survey participants noted--because she didn't notice things that needed to be done, because sometimes she made more work for me, because sometimes I envied her "free time" at work. But as one commentor noticed, I was often just mad in general and she was the first adult to get in my way, since I had the good sense not to be mad at the kids. And I was often more mad when I was more tired. Because I was frustrated, stuck, unable to get done what I wanted done, unable to let go, feeling incompetent, feeling overwhelmed, feeling unsure, feeling inferior, feeling alone. Even if I were one of two moms, I was still the only one at home. Now that the kids are older, I'm not as mad as I was, say, before they were 2, just as the survey found. Often the rage would come on and then dissipate quickly, as if a bubble had burst, as if I almost needed to get that mad to find some emotional release. I do that with crying but had never done it with anger before.
I don't think it's a gender thing, though the survey posited it that way and all the commentors I read thought of it in those terms. Because, of course, those are the majority of parenting pairs. I think the source of the anger is not a control/responsibility/power issue but actually one of communication in the face of isolation and disengagement. In the traditional parenting paradigm (does such a thing actually exist? Yep, I grew up in one, but what follows is a generic, even exagerated, depiction of the system and not exactly how it was in my family), Father goes to work while Mother stays home with the children. Mother takes care of the house, volunteers, plays bridge, etc while the kids are at school and Father is at work. After school, Mother provides transportation, snacks, homework assistance, and whatever else is needed. Then at night, she continues in her provider role giving everyone dinner and then gets the children in bed while Father relaxes. On weekends, there might be family time and Father might catch up on his own household chores. In this paradigm, which actually isn't too far from my own life now except "Father" is a Mama and I don't play bridge, Mother is in charge of house and kids because she is at home and with them the most. If Mother is exhausted and overwhelmed by the very real challenges and burdens of these duties, it is mainly because she feels isolated and alone, with no help, unable to do for herself. If Father becomes estranged from the family and operation of the household, it is mainly because the family and house function with or without his presence, which then would seem to give him permission to stay separate and distant (and it might even seem easier than disrupting the flow of things) This is the challenge: regardless of gender, both parents must work to stay involved and engaged with themselves, each other, and the family.
But, Mama grew up in a totally different family structure. Her parents both worked. And on days when her mother was teaching nights at the university, her father was in charge of dinner and homework and tuck-ins. Her parents split the parental responsibilities because no one parent was home the majority of the time. At least in Mama's family's situation, the gendered assumptions about who did what did not exist--no one assumed that Ma would be responsibile for more house and child issues than Gong just because she was a woman. I don't know how that happened but know they must have had strong communication skills to keep the system running. In the end, it's those communication skills that probably help keep the anger at bay.
Mama and I long ago decided that I was "head mommy in charge." While we were equal co-parents, in the end, for the simple reason that I would be spending more time with them, I was in charge. I got to delegate tasks, make major decisions in the event that we couldn't discuss (or agree), be in charge of their day-to-day routines, care, and discipline. By extension, because I was physically at home more, I was in charge of what one commentor called the "Control Journal," our own personal list of what needed to be done when. At first, I balked at the responsibility, not sure I was capable or up to the task. This was probably when all the anger peeked. But as with most aspects of motherhood, I've settled into my position and don't get as angry anymore. And I'm much better at asking Mama to add to her list of chores (like all the laundry and the garbage, which she does without needing to be reminded), help me when I fall behind, or whatever else we the family might need. And she's much better at not taking that personally. It only makes sense (for us)--why put the parent who is not at home as much in charge of the same, or more, number of things? That's not to say that SAHM-ness is one empty schedule able to be filled with housework and errands--of course not: I work a full day just like Mama does, but on the off chance I can squeeze in some household or child-oriented stuff, I do. Because I'm there. But Mama has made just as many phone calls to doctors and researched just as many, if not more, issues on the net because she can. It just seemed more efficient for us to divide things up. And has worked, with some modifications, thus far.
Is she angry at me? Of course there have been times. When I was whiny. When I was picky. When I was bossy. When I didn't let her know that I appreciated what she contributed. When we didn't communicate well. When she was experiencing her own unexplainable tidal rage. I mean, wasn't I at home all the time? Didn't I have a babysitter so I could have "free time?" Why wasn't I using that free time better? And did I really need to do things the way I did? Luckily, like mine, her anger ebbs and flows and has diminished in its strength.
But reading these articles reminds me of the constant presence of more emotion, yes more negative emotions, than before children. And each article reminds me of the real dangers of unresolved anger. Besides the damage done to moms, their partners, and their families emotionally,
But don't get mad about that . . . go talk to your co-parent.
We love our husbands -- but we're mad that we spend more mental energy on the
details of parenting. We're mad that having children has turned our lives upside
down much more than theirs. We're mad that these guys, who can manage businesses or keep track of thousands of pieces of sports trivia, can be clueless when it comes to what our kids are eating and what supplies they need for school. And
more than anything else, we're mad that they get more time to themselves than we
do.
What is going on here? There have been several ideas floated by commentors: men are bad boys, women are whiny perfectionists, the anger is not as widespread as the survey seems to indicate, and motherhood is hard and does generate intense emotions. I didn't read all the comments on Belkin's original post so I don't know if anyone questioned the gendered basis of this survey. Are co-parents mad at other co-parents, i.e. are all mommies mad at mamas?
I have had my moments of being mad, furious, angry and full of rage from the depth of my soul about both big issues and little issues since we had kids. A kind of anger that surprised me in its ferocity, its unfamiliarity, its irrationality, its power. Was I actually mad at Mama? Sometimes. About dumb stuff, about all the stuff the survey participants noted--because she didn't notice things that needed to be done, because sometimes she made more work for me, because sometimes I envied her "free time" at work. But as one commentor noticed, I was often just mad in general and she was the first adult to get in my way, since I had the good sense not to be mad at the kids. And I was often more mad when I was more tired. Because I was frustrated, stuck, unable to get done what I wanted done, unable to let go, feeling incompetent, feeling overwhelmed, feeling unsure, feeling inferior, feeling alone. Even if I were one of two moms, I was still the only one at home. Now that the kids are older, I'm not as mad as I was, say, before they were 2, just as the survey found. Often the rage would come on and then dissipate quickly, as if a bubble had burst, as if I almost needed to get that mad to find some emotional release. I do that with crying but had never done it with anger before.
I don't think it's a gender thing, though the survey posited it that way and all the commentors I read thought of it in those terms. Because, of course, those are the majority of parenting pairs. I think the source of the anger is not a control/responsibility/power issue but actually one of communication in the face of isolation and disengagement. In the traditional parenting paradigm (does such a thing actually exist? Yep, I grew up in one, but what follows is a generic, even exagerated, depiction of the system and not exactly how it was in my family), Father goes to work while Mother stays home with the children. Mother takes care of the house, volunteers, plays bridge, etc while the kids are at school and Father is at work. After school, Mother provides transportation, snacks, homework assistance, and whatever else is needed. Then at night, she continues in her provider role giving everyone dinner and then gets the children in bed while Father relaxes. On weekends, there might be family time and Father might catch up on his own household chores. In this paradigm, which actually isn't too far from my own life now except "Father" is a Mama and I don't play bridge, Mother is in charge of house and kids because she is at home and with them the most. If Mother is exhausted and overwhelmed by the very real challenges and burdens of these duties, it is mainly because she feels isolated and alone, with no help, unable to do for herself. If Father becomes estranged from the family and operation of the household, it is mainly because the family and house function with or without his presence, which then would seem to give him permission to stay separate and distant (and it might even seem easier than disrupting the flow of things) This is the challenge: regardless of gender, both parents must work to stay involved and engaged with themselves, each other, and the family.
But, Mama grew up in a totally different family structure. Her parents both worked. And on days when her mother was teaching nights at the university, her father was in charge of dinner and homework and tuck-ins. Her parents split the parental responsibilities because no one parent was home the majority of the time. At least in Mama's family's situation, the gendered assumptions about who did what did not exist--no one assumed that Ma would be responsibile for more house and child issues than Gong just because she was a woman. I don't know how that happened but know they must have had strong communication skills to keep the system running. In the end, it's those communication skills that probably help keep the anger at bay.
Mama and I long ago decided that I was "head mommy in charge." While we were equal co-parents, in the end, for the simple reason that I would be spending more time with them, I was in charge. I got to delegate tasks, make major decisions in the event that we couldn't discuss (or agree), be in charge of their day-to-day routines, care, and discipline. By extension, because I was physically at home more, I was in charge of what one commentor called the "Control Journal," our own personal list of what needed to be done when. At first, I balked at the responsibility, not sure I was capable or up to the task. This was probably when all the anger peeked. But as with most aspects of motherhood, I've settled into my position and don't get as angry anymore. And I'm much better at asking Mama to add to her list of chores (like all the laundry and the garbage, which she does without needing to be reminded), help me when I fall behind, or whatever else we the family might need. And she's much better at not taking that personally. It only makes sense (for us)--why put the parent who is not at home as much in charge of the same, or more, number of things? That's not to say that SAHM-ness is one empty schedule able to be filled with housework and errands--of course not: I work a full day just like Mama does, but on the off chance I can squeeze in some household or child-oriented stuff, I do. Because I'm there. But Mama has made just as many phone calls to doctors and researched just as many, if not more, issues on the net because she can. It just seemed more efficient for us to divide things up. And has worked, with some modifications, thus far.
Is she angry at me? Of course there have been times. When I was whiny. When I was picky. When I was bossy. When I didn't let her know that I appreciated what she contributed. When we didn't communicate well. When she was experiencing her own unexplainable tidal rage. I mean, wasn't I at home all the time? Didn't I have a babysitter so I could have "free time?" Why wasn't I using that free time better? And did I really need to do things the way I did? Luckily, like mine, her anger ebbs and flows and has diminished in its strength.
But reading these articles reminds me of the constant presence of more emotion, yes more negative emotions, than before children. And each article reminds me of the real dangers of unresolved anger. Besides the damage done to moms, their partners, and their families emotionally,
You can also weaken your heart, harden your arteries, raise your cholesterol,
damage your kidneys and liver, and put yourself at risk for depression or
anxiety. It's no wonder that some scientists consider chronic anger more likely
to kill you prematurely than smoking or obesity.
But don't get mad about that . . . go talk to your co-parent.
Chinese Fan-dango
Proof that some experiences take awhile to grab hold of the imagination, the kids have been obsessed with Chinese New Year during the last few days. Yesterday morning, Bud had the clever idea to turn our two play tunnels into a Chinese dragon for the New Year's dragon dance. We picked it up and paraded around until Sis came up with the great idea to decorate it. She worked on the face while Bud made body art. I worked on back scales and tail. Soon, using teamwork (one of our favorite words), we were dancing around the living room first singing "We are the Dragons" to Laurie Berkner's "We are the Dinosaurs," and then to our Chinese music CDs.
Later in the day, Bud remembered the fan dance performed in Ma and Gong's New York New Year's Gala DVD. And so he wanted to make fans. We folded numerous colorful sheets of paper into fans and taped them together to make a huge fan. Soon, Bud could fold fans himself and so we made two big fans for him to dance. Sis also got two fans. And soon there was dancing, actually very similar to Chinese fan dancing. Except Bud and Sis couldn't make their faces change color as the man with the masks had done on the show.
Then, this morning before school (which has an afternoon early dismissal for snow which doesn't affect us), they decided to make Chinese New Year dinner. They flipped over an empty cardboard box to use as an altar then set the table with "Chinese pizza" and "Chinese cake" (just renaming our usual stock of plastic and wooden food), filling the space with dishes and treats. Then, amazingly, they called the ancestors or, because I don't think they understand "ancestors," in this case relatives. "Pop! Gommie!" they cried. And then they imagined they appeared for dinner. Happy New Year!
Later in the day, Bud remembered the fan dance performed in Ma and Gong's New York New Year's Gala DVD. And so he wanted to make fans. We folded numerous colorful sheets of paper into fans and taped them together to make a huge fan. Soon, Bud could fold fans himself and so we made two big fans for him to dance. Sis also got two fans. And soon there was dancing, actually very similar to Chinese fan dancing. Except Bud and Sis couldn't make their faces change color as the man with the masks had done on the show.
Then, this morning before school (which has an afternoon early dismissal for snow which doesn't affect us), they decided to make Chinese New Year dinner. They flipped over an empty cardboard box to use as an altar then set the table with "Chinese pizza" and "Chinese cake" (just renaming our usual stock of plastic and wooden food), filling the space with dishes and treats. Then, amazingly, they called the ancestors or, because I don't think they understand "ancestors," in this case relatives. "Pop! Gommie!" they cried. And then they imagined they appeared for dinner. Happy New Year!
Monday, February 2, 2009
Catching Up
Actually, I'm not going to catch up tonight. The kids have been getting over a 24-hour cold--sniffles but no fever--but I'm in the throes of it. We will have snow tomorrow, may or may not have a snow day, so no telling when I'll have a nice, long, thoughtful post. But I'm always thinking, right now on:
- Women's health, and why we don't take care of ourselves (I'm "breaking up" with my GP and having trouble getting positive references to a new doctor)
- Moms, dads, and anger (from Motherlode and Parenting.com): It's not just for straight couples any more. I'm behind in my blog reading and am still digesting this one.
- Mama and I are starting our own book club. First up, probably Kingsolver's The Bean Trees (I know, I can't believe I haven't read this either).
- Those octuplets: religion, reproduction, and multiples. Though, maybe I shouldn't start that.
- The Winter of Our Content, or how winter is a place. And I can't for the life of me find the essay in the NYTimes that evocatively talked about that. (I found it!)
I'm losing battery, figuratively and literally. Good night.
Books: Ella's Trip to the Museum
Elaine Clayton's illustrated children's book, Ella's Trip to the Museum (New York: Crown Publishers, Inc, 1996), playfully follows Ella's imaginative journey through an art museum. On a field trip with her class, Ella enters paintings and dances with statues while her increasingly stern teacher gives a dry lecture to the class.
"Stay with us, Ella! I want you to experience the art."
"But I am!"
While the book unfairly sets up adults such as teachers and guards as immune to the powers of art, it does introduce children to the imaginative possibilities of art and museums. The illustrations are light and cheery, with the depicted works of art alluding to the ballerinas of Degas, Baroque cherubs, and ancient Roman statues. This is a great prelude to a real visit to a museum, even if children might want to dance in the galleries!
The Groundhog Says . . .
He loves the Pittsburgh Steelers!
And there will be six more weeks of winter.
Not sure how he saw his shadow on this cloudy day, but with a Nor'easter on its way, I'm sure he's right.
And there will be six more weeks of winter.
Not sure how he saw his shadow on this cloudy day, but with a Nor'easter on its way, I'm sure he's right.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Thinking Outloud
I'm having several big thought streams these days, can't shake thinking about these things. Maybe this will help:
- Kindergarten stress: Everyone here is talking about kindergarten and stressing about the process (which is admittedly opaque, archaic, and seemingly random). For some, kindergarten starts in the fall; for us, it's another year off. But even those of us with a wait are bemoaning it. And why not? We've spent 3+ years carefully watching over these little kiddos and next year we are asked to abandon that care and just throw them into the public school system willy-nilly, with no say in school, teacher, or the like. Sure, private school. But that's $40K a year for us. Not gonna happen (I got my Ph.D. for less, at least the tuition anyway). Anyway, no wonder we're all talking about it all the time. As the superintendent said, it's the most stressful transition until they enter college. Maybe we should start worrying about that now.
- Mama Teacher and I have been having a discussion about education recently. She's overwhelmed by various rubrics and metrics and testing of her position. And as she was talking, I realized that the source of her frustration is that, metaphorically, she is not a scientist, but an artist. Teaching is an art, a craft. It cannot easily be boiled down to hypothesis and reproducible results, essential questions and data and goals, or whatever the buzzword is this week. There are too many variables. But outsiders--psychologists, educational theorists, politicians--get involved and impose from above all these standards and measurements, borrowed from either the scientific or business world, while eliminating, both figuratively and literally the art in teaching, and, well, we have all children left behind--children who hate school by first grade and tenured, seasoned, senior teachers who now absolutely agree with them.
- Like teaching, which it absolutely resembles, motherhood is a craft. And I'm just an apprentice. Except there are no articles of apprenticeship, no clear path to journeywoman status. Not even a handbook. You are always learning (and boy that learning curve is steep in the beginning), always practicing, only later (maybe as grandmothers?) are you a mastercraftswoman. But it is an institution (I'm thinking of medieval craft guilds but using the word "institution" to piggyback on David Brooks's recent essay) with a history, with other practitioners, with its own practices and traditions. I guess raising kids is like raising a cathedral (a la Chartres or Pillars of the Earth)--lots of work which forces you to focus on the present especially because you will never know the final outcome of your labor. But isn't it glorious?
- F***book, or "I'm just not that into you": I've been giving a lot of thought to why I haven't joined that popular online social networking site yet. Why the hesitation? Obviously, I have no problem with publicly sharing personal information. Though, I am bothered by using my real name. Sure, if you didn't know me and wanted to find where I live, I think you could locate me pretty easily by perusing these seemingly anonymous posts. I'm not naive about identity security on the net, even if I use aliases for us all. But to post my real name with photos and include all these "status updates" seems uncautious to me somehow (yes, yes, my techie friends get telling me all about the security settings). And then everyone tells me how great it is to get in touch with their friends from the third-grade playground. But I'm just not that interested in reconnecting with people with whom I've lost touch. We lost touch for a reason. Or we weren't much in touch to begin with. But what about all the people I do know? Why not connect with them in an easy and popular way? For that I much prefer email, a one-on-one connection when I'm thinking of a person specifically. I also like blogging--I'm pretty sure that's the narcissist (and frustrated academic) in me. But that's what makes the web great--there's something here for all of us. If I ever eat my words and join the site, you can just unfriend me.
- PRG: No, I'm not pregnant. I'm in a Personal Renewal Group. But I can't tell you anything about my group specifically--what happens in group, stays in group--only my personal thoughts on the subject. So, why am I in this group? Mainly, I like talking and listening to my friends. And I am interested in working on who the "new me," i.e. the "mommy me" is now. I've changed with kids, mostly for the better, or at least in new directions. I'm in touch with a whole range of the human experience which I knew nothing about before and am therefore more in touch with my fellow humans, the human condition, humanity itself. That's a big thing. And so I'm working through some of it. And I've realized a few things: Mama needs this course more than I do, if only because I think I balance (or at least define) the self-mommywork seesaw better than she does. She's the typical guilty working mom. I don't have much guilt about taking care of myself or doing things for myself. If I use the kids as an excuse not to do stuff, it's usually because I'm being lazy. I'm inherently lazy (it's my natural state), even about things that are important to me. I lose sight of my priorities and forget to work towards them (I'm a great starter, but a terrible finisher because I get distracted). Bemoaning my lack of academic or professional outlets? What am I doing with my 12 childfree daytime hours a week? Why am I not doing something about it when I think it would be so fulfilling? That was my epiphany at our first PRG meeting. I think I've finally satisfied my inner loaf after a full semester of kids-in-school and am starting to consider real alternatives (having abanodoned the prospect of teaching earlier this year in favor of more book reading at the coffee shop, well, and for logistical reasons). But this group is reminding me who I am, who I want to be, what I value, and what I want, for me, for the kids, for the family. And that's great.
There are more--several alone on spirituality--but I will save those for another post.
Not Live Blogging Halftime
. . . if only because we missed the start and are watching it delayed.
But, come on, was Bruce's pole dance--he wishes he had a pole like that--any less offensive than Janet Jackson's breast?
I think not.
But, come on, was Bruce's pole dance--he wishes he had a pole like that--any less offensive than Janet Jackson's breast?
I think not.
Not Live Blogging the Super Bowl
We watched the last 30-minute pre-game show of the Super Bowl and Bud was full of questions: Who is in yellow? What's the red team? Is that blue dot the middle of the field (where Faith Hill sang)? What team is in blue (the choir behind her)? What are those numbers for (yardlines)? Are the soldiers going to play music? What's a coin toss? When are they going to play?
And I tried to answer every question. "Honey, those people aren't players they work on an airplane. They were heroes." But it was through tears. Because I'm a terribly sentimental person when it comes to ceremony, display, tradition, schlock. And I always cry at the presentation of teams, singing of the National Anthem, airplane flyover, even the coin toss. Luckily, Buddy has a cold and was doing his own sniffling and didn't notice mine. Mama did and she always gives me a pat.
Bud and I saw the kickoff--he is rooting for the red team because he likes the color and was happy to know they were birds ("what's a Steeler?"). Sis liked the red team too, at least when she looked up from her Richard Scarry book. She actually missed kickoff, preferring to bathe instead.
By the time we had them tucked in less than 30 minutes later, the Steelers were ahead 10-0 (now I think it's 10-7--I can't find any video streaming so am not watching it downstairs). Gonna be a long night for the red birds.
And I tried to answer every question. "Honey, those people aren't players they work on an airplane. They were heroes." But it was through tears. Because I'm a terribly sentimental person when it comes to ceremony, display, tradition, schlock. And I always cry at the presentation of teams, singing of the National Anthem, airplane flyover, even the coin toss. Luckily, Buddy has a cold and was doing his own sniffling and didn't notice mine. Mama did and she always gives me a pat.
Bud and I saw the kickoff--he is rooting for the red team because he likes the color and was happy to know they were birds ("what's a Steeler?"). Sis liked the red team too, at least when she looked up from her Richard Scarry book. She actually missed kickoff, preferring to bathe instead.
By the time we had them tucked in less than 30 minutes later, the Steelers were ahead 10-0 (now I think it's 10-7--I can't find any video streaming so am not watching it downstairs). Gonna be a long night for the red birds.
The Rainbow Raccoon Strikes Again
My friend Mommy Goose sent me a link to a rainbow cake recipe, knowing I would love the colorful confection. Wow! It's an edible circle of concentric rainbow colors. Such fun.
But the comments weren't--why do I read those? Paraphrasing Virginia Woolf, anonymous was a hater. I did find a few constructive ones: try it in black and white for a zebra cake, or in your school colors. Also, because this is a "diet" cake, made with mix and diet soda, there were lots of comments on nutrition. Very useful was one comment to use a can of pumpkin puree (not pie mix--though, truthfully, I'm not sure I know the difference--isn't Libby's puree?) instead of diet soda, or eggs, or oil, in various baked goods for moisture. I'm going to try that. Plain seltzer apparently works too. I know applesauce does. Unhelpful comments castigated the blogger for chemicals, dyes, aspartame, artificial flavors, not being organic, ad nauseum. Okay, so I don't feed my kids many fake ingredients much either, believing Michael Pollan's "eat food," but I can adapt the great idea (which several commentors noted had appeared on other blogs earlier) to what I will let them eat.
And until I do, I love looking at the rainbow colors!
But the comments weren't--why do I read those? Paraphrasing Virginia Woolf, anonymous was a hater. I did find a few constructive ones: try it in black and white for a zebra cake, or in your school colors. Also, because this is a "diet" cake, made with mix and diet soda, there were lots of comments on nutrition. Very useful was one comment to use a can of pumpkin puree (not pie mix--though, truthfully, I'm not sure I know the difference--isn't Libby's puree?) instead of diet soda, or eggs, or oil, in various baked goods for moisture. I'm going to try that. Plain seltzer apparently works too. I know applesauce does. Unhelpful comments castigated the blogger for chemicals, dyes, aspartame, artificial flavors, not being organic, ad nauseum. Okay, so I don't feed my kids many fake ingredients much either, believing Michael Pollan's "eat food," but I can adapt the great idea (which several commentors noted had appeared on other blogs earlier) to what I will let them eat.
And until I do, I love looking at the rainbow colors!
Last of the Red Hot Separatists
When we lived in Chicago, we were on the social fringes of a community of lesbian separatists, those who came out as lesbians as well as active, political feminists in the 1970s. They had established womyn-born-womyn-only spaces, joined lesbian separatist think-tank collectives, established women's choruses and sports teams, volunteered for lesbian causes such as breast cancer awareness, absorbed women's music and feminist literature, embraced non-traditional spiritual practices, gathered in the same neighborhood in Chicago (Andersonville), often spent time on "the land," and existed as the "family of choice" for their lesbian sisters. All without men. Just like the women described in the article "My Sister's Keeper" in the NYTimes.
And like the lesbian separatists living on rural communes described in that article, they were a diminishing breed. Other, younger lesbians we met in Chicago couldn't fathom the existence much less the reasons behind womyn-born-womyn spaces. They eschewed the music, choruses, literature, etc., of the older generation. Mama, though, who had had what she called an "HQ 75" coming-out, a reference to the Dewey Decimal library classification number of the majority of lesbian studies books and periodicals, was well-versed in the history of the lesbian movement and liked being around its original participants, with whom she more closely identified than her hip, young, bi peers. And so we went to concerts, festivals, parties, parades, coffeehouses, collectives, potlucks, and the like, always as the youngest participants, sometimes by 20 years.
While we knew that their numbers were decreasing, the news has not been good since we left: the coffeehouse closed, the women's bookstore became more mainstream to attract more customers, the neighborhood was gentrified and the lesbians left, the local autumnal music fest seems to have disappeared. The only positive news is that the chorus continues on. And that they all still form a close-knit family, despite deaths, break-ups, and other dramas.
Perhaps we should celebrate that younger lesbians do not feel marginalized by society and no longer need a separate space. Perhaps we should be grateful that we don't have to decide between our separatist friends and activities and our 3 1/2 year old son (who would be too old to be welcomed in official separatist spaces). Indeed, we often wondered if it was the increase in lesbians having children, specifically man-children, that began the disappearance of womyn-born-womyn-only spaces.
Were we separatists? No. While we appreciated the struggles of our lesbian friends and respected their needs for a separate space (and enjoyed those spaces ourselves at times), we could not so easily dismiss people purely based on their gender, just as we asked not to be discriminated against because of our sexuality. As women with male relatives, male colleagues, and even male friends, we liked womyn-only space but believed it was not realistic, practical, or even fair. Now as the mothers of a boy, we even more stridently believe that men can't be rejected purely for being men--it's all about the inherent worth of every individual, even men. Especially our son.
In the end, though, the loss of vitality of that community makes us a little sad, a little nostalgic for what once was, a little adrift in a straight world. For we always loved being in those spaces, with those women, free of the negative effects of the existence of men (including subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle competition, lookism, sizism, sexism, misogyny, power struggles, and other attendant negatives), even while missing the positive effects. Even if we knew it was temporary, even if we knew it was artificial, even if we actually had men in our lives whom we loved. In the end, lesbians love women, are connected to and bonded with women, not just sexually but emotionally, physically, psychologically, and spiritually. And as even straight women know, sometimes it's nice to just hang out with the girls.
And like the lesbian separatists living on rural communes described in that article, they were a diminishing breed. Other, younger lesbians we met in Chicago couldn't fathom the existence much less the reasons behind womyn-born-womyn spaces. They eschewed the music, choruses, literature, etc., of the older generation. Mama, though, who had had what she called an "HQ 75" coming-out, a reference to the Dewey Decimal library classification number of the majority of lesbian studies books and periodicals, was well-versed in the history of the lesbian movement and liked being around its original participants, with whom she more closely identified than her hip, young, bi peers. And so we went to concerts, festivals, parties, parades, coffeehouses, collectives, potlucks, and the like, always as the youngest participants, sometimes by 20 years.
While we knew that their numbers were decreasing, the news has not been good since we left: the coffeehouse closed, the women's bookstore became more mainstream to attract more customers, the neighborhood was gentrified and the lesbians left, the local autumnal music fest seems to have disappeared. The only positive news is that the chorus continues on. And that they all still form a close-knit family, despite deaths, break-ups, and other dramas.
Perhaps we should celebrate that younger lesbians do not feel marginalized by society and no longer need a separate space. Perhaps we should be grateful that we don't have to decide between our separatist friends and activities and our 3 1/2 year old son (who would be too old to be welcomed in official separatist spaces). Indeed, we often wondered if it was the increase in lesbians having children, specifically man-children, that began the disappearance of womyn-born-womyn-only spaces.
Were we separatists? No. While we appreciated the struggles of our lesbian friends and respected their needs for a separate space (and enjoyed those spaces ourselves at times), we could not so easily dismiss people purely based on their gender, just as we asked not to be discriminated against because of our sexuality. As women with male relatives, male colleagues, and even male friends, we liked womyn-only space but believed it was not realistic, practical, or even fair. Now as the mothers of a boy, we even more stridently believe that men can't be rejected purely for being men--it's all about the inherent worth of every individual, even men. Especially our son.
In the end, though, the loss of vitality of that community makes us a little sad, a little nostalgic for what once was, a little adrift in a straight world. For we always loved being in those spaces, with those women, free of the negative effects of the existence of men (including subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle competition, lookism, sizism, sexism, misogyny, power struggles, and other attendant negatives), even while missing the positive effects. Even if we knew it was temporary, even if we knew it was artificial, even if we actually had men in our lives whom we loved. In the end, lesbians love women, are connected to and bonded with women, not just sexually but emotionally, physically, psychologically, and spiritually. And as even straight women know, sometimes it's nice to just hang out with the girls.
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