tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53170199886678196982024-02-07T00:09:27.854-05:00Mom on ReserveThe life of a mother on the run; a mother in the reserves and on reserve; a mother who never knows where she'll be next...Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-23731702048659520912010-10-08T12:00:00.002-04:002010-10-10T08:37:58.131-04:00Prudential and The Class Action Lawsuit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://cache.virtualtourist.com/3012023-Prudential_Center-Boston.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" px="true" src="http://cache.virtualtourist.com/3012023-Prudential_Center-Boston.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>When you enlist in the armed services, one of the first sets of paperwork you'll fill in during training is for the <a href="http://www.insurance.va.gov/sglisite/forms/forms.htm">Servicemember's Group Life Insurance (SGLI)</a>. It is still optional and sadly, many young enlistees opt out of it - to their families' detriment later down the line.<br />
<br />
I, however, did not. I carried the highest premium I could (which effectively made me worth a whole lot more dead than alive) and I even carried the SGLI Spouse policy (therefore making my husband worth far more dead than alive too - call it mutually assured continued existence if you will). (I kid!!!)<br />
<br />
I had no idea, however, what <a href="http://www.veteransforcommonsense.org/index.php/whats-new/1840-joel-rosenblatt">games Prudential has been playing with our money</a>. And I also had no idea that once the company was contacted to pay out, the beneficiary could also opt for lump sum payment or payment over time, as this <a href="http://www.boston.com/news/local/massachusetts/articles/2010/10/04/military_families_sue_insurer_over_payments_of_death_benefits/">rather less than objective article</a> states. It turns out that the plaintiffs in this case were allowed to choose for themselves even though the form has never changed and we, the servicemember's, make that selection when we fill it in.<br />
<br />
I don't know how I feel about this. For one thing, I didn't even know that Prudential was the insurer. It was just the SGLI and I paid 37 bucks a month to have it. I wanted to know that my family would be very well kept if the worst should happen during a deployment, a training accident, or, for that matter, any accident.<br />
<br />
I suppose I do feel like we're being used as a money market for this company if these allegations are true. We're a profit maker. And I loathe the idea that my money has earned <em>them</em> money that my family could certainly use and would most certainly never see if the worst happened. The average age of the policy holder is probably around 22 or 23. Healthy kids, too. There is some risk here yes, but it seems to me that the risk is nominal compared to the rewards this company appears to be reaping.<br />
<br />
I also feel like I should have known about this when I elected to carry the SGLI. It may have made me think harder about it and perhaps even made me shop around way back when I first elected to carry it (I carry life insurance through work as well and it does NOT cost me 37 dollars a month for a nearly identical pay out - that just dawned on me actually...). Something stinks here and I hate feeling like I've been had simply by virtue of my profession and my concern for my family's financial well-being if they lost the primary income earner. <br />
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I suppose it will be interesting to see how this all plays out - and another lesson to be added to the ever expanding Box of Lessons to Pass Along to My Offspring.Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-41818207543800055212010-10-06T12:00:00.001-04:002010-10-06T12:00:07.204-04:00Who's Really the Nincompoop Here?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/f/fo/foxumon/1207074_can_opener.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" px="true" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/f/fo/foxumon/1207074_can_opener.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>First, let it be known that because I have the sense of humor of a 4-year old, the word nincompoop still cracks me up. Mostly because it contains the word, "poop". Obviously, that, coupled with my obsession over all things helicopter parenting meant that I <em>had</em> to read this: <a href="http://www.boston.com/news/nation/articles/2010/09/27/are_we_raising_a_generation_of_nincompoops/?p1=Well_MostPop_Emailed1_HP">Are We Raising a Generation of Nicompoops</a>? It is currently the most e-mailed article on <a href="http://boston.com/">Boston.com</a> - and has been for over 5 days. <br />
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On reading however, I was sorely disappointed in what I found. Rather than another interesting commentary on the ill effects of helicopter parenting as children come of age, it was an unintentional slam on the parents themselves. So, I thought it would be fun to dissect the article here (feel free to play along and add your two cents!):<br />
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1. <em>Susan Maushart, a mother of three, says her teenage daughter "literally does not know how to use a can opener. Most cans come with pull-tops these days. I see her reaching for a can that requires a can opener, and her shoulders slump and she goes for something else."</em><br />
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My Thoughts: Um...your daughter literally will not know how to use a can opener if she's never been shown. Clearly, you have one in your home because you have inferred here that not all cans in your larder have pop-tops. You have witnessed the dejected sag of her slender shoulders as she realizes that, yet again, she is foiled by a can and may not partake of her snack of choice. And yet...you have not stepped in to demonstrate the fine art of utilizing the most ancient of all tools - the can opener?! <br />
<br />
You, Ma'am, have failed.<br />
<br />
Nincompoop Score:<br />
Kids - 0<br />
Parents - 1<br />
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2. <em>Teenagers are so accustomed to either throwing their clothes on the floor or hanging them on hooks that Maushart says her "kids actually struggle with the mechanics of a clothes hanger."</em><br />
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My Thoughts: You allow your kids the luxury of throwing their clothing on the floor. I will assume here that you pick them up for them. You've given them pegs to utilize. You admit to have seen them struggle with a hanger. Please see comment #1. Again, Ma'am, you have failed.<br />
<br />
Nincompoop Score: <br />
Kids - 0<br />
Parents - 2<br />
<br />
3. <em>Many kids never learn to do ordinary household tasks. They have no chores. Take-out and drive-through meals have replaced home cooking. And busy families who can afford it often outsource house-cleaning and lawn care.</em><br />
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My Thoughts: How? Why? Our toddler has "chores" if you count the fact that we ask her to put her sneakers in the hallway after she takes them off, and we ask her to clean up her toys at the end of the day. I'll have her put her dirty clothes in her hamper and she throws away rubbish without being asked. Age appropriate chores, but in a sense, chores nonetheless. <br />
<br />
Drive through and take away are luxuries - expensive and unhealthy ones 9 times out of 10. Even families I know who have 12 hour days before they get home and start dinner typically cook, especially now, especially in this economy. Granted, that's anecdotal. But it's my experience and the concepts in this paragraph are so foreign to me that I'm afraid the parents lose this round again. Clearly, chores and home cooked meals <em>can</em> happen. These parents simply choose to not have them happen.<br />
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Nincompoop Score:<br />
Kids - 0<br />
Parents - 3<br />
<br />
4. <em>"It's so all laid out for them," said Maushart, author of the forthcoming book "The Winter of Our Disconnect," about her efforts to wean her family from its dependence on technology. "Having so much comfort and ease is what has led to this situation -- the Velcro sneakers, the Pull-Ups generation. You can pee in your pants and we'll take care of it for you!"</em><br />
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My Thoughts: So, Miss Maushart is actually trying to wean her family off of the technology that she chose to raise them with. Interesting. That aside: Velcro is great for right now. Our 2 year old can fasten her own shoes. However, I do note that shoes with laces are still in great abundance (and velcro was around when I was a wee lass, yet I still know how to tie my shoes...) and as kids age, there's nothing stopping a parent from buying them. <br />
<br />
Pull-ups factor heavily in our lives at the moment - or perhaps they don't? After all, it's only during very long car rides, naps, or bedtime that Miss A wears them. She's getting goood at this "using a toilet" thing. And she's only 2! Imagine that. Teching a kid that peeing in your pants isn't for life...wow.<br />
<br />
[sigh] This is really getting depressing.<br />
<br />
Nincompoop Score:<br />
Kids - 0<br />
Parents - 4<br />
<br />
5. <em>The issue hit home for me when a visiting 12-year-old took an ice-cube tray out of my freezer, then stared at it helplessly. Raised in a world where refrigerators have push-button ice-makers, he'd never had to get cubes out of a tray -- in the same way that kids growing up with pull-tab cans don't understand can openers.</em><br />
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My Thoughts: OK. Really?! 99% of the homes I've been in, either my own or friends' or acquaintances, have normal fridges with freezers that require ice cube trays. In fact, my own fridge does have an ice maker (though it's not an "in-door" model), but we have no water line to connect it to. So, we use ice cube trays. Just like most of the canned goods in our larder, and so many others, require an opener (have you noticed that a pop top actually adds a buck or more to the price?!), so we must suffer in what's apparently viewed as neolithic servitude - slaves to our manual kitchens that do nothing for us, never mind wipe our bums too. <br />
<br />
Nincompoop Score:<br />
Kids - 0<br />
Parents - 5<br />
<br />
This is too depressing. I think I'll stop here and call it a loss for the parents.<br />
<br />
Now, while I'm the first to gleefully admit that I can't wait to be of that age where I can scream at kids to get off'n my lawn...and I've certainly been known to go off on my own, "KIDS THESE DAYS CONSARN'T" rants and raves (usually after a cherub-faced 6 year old tells me to "F**k off"), I will also be the first to come to the defense of the youth of today when they are unfairly maligned.<br />
<br />
It's not the kids who are the nincompoops here. It's the parents who never taught them; who never made the time; who value the material and ease over anything else. I also suspect that the number of kids who are like those in the scenarios culled from the original article and noted above is vastly smaller than those who aren't - and it's totally unfair to use them to paint a generational picture like this. Let's call it like it is: There Is a Generation of Nincompoops Passing Their Nincompoopery Along to Their Offspring.Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-9975380982105588472010-10-04T11:59:00.000-04:002010-10-04T11:59:11.233-04:00Making Sense of the SenselessI'll be the first to admit that when violence grips the most violent parts of this fair metro area of mine, I'm rarely surprised and never truly shocked. Even when it hits close to home, at the other end of the city, I'm not <em>surprised</em>. After all, the truth of the matter is this: I don't feel safe in my neighborhood, particularly after dark. There are a large number of addicts living around us and, while our <em>street</em> is generally safe and neighborly, 30 seconds around the corner(s) yields another place that is not. <br />
<br />
I was, however, angered at the brief but seemingly random spate of violence that my own community experienced over Labor Day weekend - 24 hours of gun violence that left 3 people dead, in two unrelated shootings. The <a href="http://www.boston.com/yourtown/malden/articles/2010/09/06/stoneham_man_21_killed_on_malden_street/">first happened about half a mile from our house</a>, <a href="http://www.boston.com/news/local/massachusetts/articles/2010/09/08/1_killed_2_wounded_in_malden_shoot_out/">the second happened</a> closer to home - and that headline is already too old. Within 48-hours of that event, a second man died from his injuries.<br />
<br />
My anger has barely calmed to a simmer if only because our Mayor has dismissed these acts as "some bad actors who came to Malden", and said nothing more. There have been no updates on the investigation(s) and I suspect that we'll never know whether anyone will be brought to justice in the case of the victim from Stoneham. <br />
<br />
Almost a month later, a section of Boston that I've never visited and probably never will...a section that I've always seen as dangerous and no stranger to the violence that's making it's way to the suburbs of Boston (can our community truly be a suburb when it's about 3 miles from the city-proper's limits, 2 T stops away, and the skyline is quite visible from certain vantage points? Boston is eating it's suburbs like a beast, incorporating them into itself...), experienced an event that rattled me. Last week, 3 men, 1 woman, and 1 toddler were gunned down in the streets. All but one of the men was killed, and he is currently on life support, not expected to live. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.boston.com/">Boston Globe</a> columnist, <a href="http://search.boston.com/local/Search.do?s.sm.query=Brian+McGrory&camp=localsearch:on:byline:art">Brian McGrory</a>, <a href="http://www.boston.com/news/local/massachusetts/articles/2010/09/29/mattapan_violence_leaves_boston_on_edge/?p1=News_links">summed up my feelings about this</a> better than I ever could have. A child killed in his mother's arms; men stripped naked and shot in the back of the head in the dark of night, on the streets...<br />
<br />
It's too surreal. Just like a firefight just down the road from where I live is too surreal. Nevertheless, both events <em>happened</em>.<br />
<br />
I understand the price we pay in choosing to live in an urban area - crime will be more in evidence, including violent crime. I don't understand the stubborn silence of my mayor and his persistent refusal to acknowledge a significant increase in crime in our city or at least parts of our city. I don't understand the extremely foreign feeling act of ultra-violence that occurred in Mattapan last week - almost a culmination to a growing number of depraved murders this year in Dorchester and Roxbury.<br />
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Mostly, I don't understand how, as my own daughter grows, to even begin to talk to her about these types of things that she will see and hear about. The crack heads and heroin addicts we see too often are easy topics to handle. Even the not-so-surreptitious drug deals on the corner can be dealt with fairly simply. This other stuff though? I can barely wrap my head around it. I'm not sure I could possibly explain the why's and wherefor's of these acts. <br />
<br />
It's not about gun control. It's not even about crime control. There are far more deep seated issues that ultimately drive people to commit these most vicious of crimes or have to battle for their lives in self-defense (though a gunfight in a tight, urban neighborhood, even when it's home or self-defense, is still a dangerous venture for anyone to engage in what with stray bullets and all...). <br />
<br />
Moving is not an option nor is it a solution. I suppose the best I can do is the Right Thing (as Top Telly used to say to me. Constantly.) where our daughter is concerned - and give her the tools she needs to navigate all of this. After all, soon, the cameras will be gone. In the case of our Labor Day Extravaganza, they left in what seemed like minutes after arrival, especially as it became clear that Mayor Howard is no Mayor Menino, and has not spoken out and demanded justice at any cost. No news there. Just another day in Malden. But in Mattapan, after all the outrage has been aired, all of the talking heads have said all that they can say, life will go on as well.<br />
<br />
How much will any of these events, here or there, change anything? The best we can do is keep on teaching - street savvy, street smarts, and keeping away as best one can from a lifestyle that begets violence. <br />
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It's all I can think to do.Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-58684884666192630912010-10-01T20:45:00.000-04:002010-10-01T20:45:51.953-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/h/hb/hbregazzi/1003002_grubby_girl_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" px="true" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/h/hb/hbregazzi/1003002_grubby_girl_1.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>This week has been longer than most. Obviously, since it's been 10 days since my last post and for that, I am a bad blogger. Seriously though? M and I were just talking a little while ago about how loooong this week has been - and not in a good way. We were sagging with relief at it's end, breathing deeply, when what should we hear from another room? "Uh-oh. Mommy Daddy I have a pooop!"<br />
<br />
[whimper]<br />
<br />
As we flew in to the bathroom, we were greeted by the following scene: A pull-up on the floor. A poop...next to the potty. On the floor. A girl-child with her pants around her ankles and her mouth completely covered in...black?<br />
<br />
I did not even know where to begin. Clearly, she had been eating markers. Clearly, she had missed the potty but tried really hard not to. Clearly, I should not have been trying to take a moment's worth of deep breathing before she was in bed. <br />
<br />
M went to work on the poop on the floor. I went to work on her face. And then checked myself and cleaned off her bum. And then her face. But here's the dirty secret about Rose Art's water soluble, washable markers: THEY AREN'T. Even after the bathroom and the girl-child's bum were de-poopified, the face, the teeth, the tongue...were not. <br />
<br />
I don't think I've ever had her brush her teeth for that long. Or rinse and spit so many times. <br />
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It seemed a most fitting end to this work week though, arguably one of the longest work weeks in the history of work weeks. Truly, there is nothing more perspective inducing than seeing your toddler literally covered, head-to-toe, in a giant mess.<br />
<br />
I'm grateful that it's over. <br />
<br />
The ray of sunshine in all of it? The fact that she really did try to make it to the potty in time. Were it not for the fact that <strong>I</strong> forgot to lift up the lid on her little pot, she probably would have done well. So, I do take that responsibility. <br />
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It's time to breathe out now.Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-17121088608657198112010-09-20T22:14:00.001-04:002010-09-20T22:17:56.319-04:00A First Kiss<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/n/no/norci/290819_kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" qx="true" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/n/no/norci/290819_kiss.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
Over on my personal Live Journal, I'm doing a 30-Day Meme to get me back into the habit of writing daily. It's been working well for the most part, but today's question, "Your First Kiss, In Great Detail" stumped me.<br />
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It took me a while, and in the end I drew inspiration not from a torrid and wonderful, love laced past or doe eyed adolescence, but from an amazing few days in which I've been thanked for a perspective on adoption by a local adoptive mom...and cried on during a chance and wonderful encounter with a birth mom. She is a woman I've known for a while, a woman I never knew had a son she gave up, and who is back in her life, as her son in adulthood. Our stories are different, but needless to say, both encounters gave me serious pause to reflect, once again, on this topic.<br />
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So, I'm sharing a version of my meme response here today. It's pertinent to the topic, from my perspective as an adoptee.<br />
<br />
Read on...<br />
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Your First Kiss. In great detail?!<br />
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I think that the immediate conclusion one feels they should make from the question posed is that they must dredge the recesses of their memories to find the file marked, "My First Time Kissing a Boy/Girl Based on Sexual Preferences Exhibited in Early Childhood".<br />
<br />
<br />
I disagree. A kiss is a kiss, unless it has a meaning behind it. Truthfully, I have memories swimming in the miasma of time of kissing a boy in pre-school when I was about 3. He ran up to me and stole a kiss on the playground. We were toddlers. It was also the day that he came to pre-school wearing his sister's barrettes in his hair. I'm not even sure that such an encounter could possibly count as a first kiss. After all, how seriously can you take a boy with barrettes in his hair?<br />
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Trudging ahead, there is a memory, but I'm not even sure that it's truly real, of kissing my neighbor when I was probably around 12. He must have been 13 or so. It <em>was</em> a "real" kiss. But even then, my memory tells me that I thought it was rather meaningless. It was an experiment. We had passed the Making Out With Our Pillow stage of adolescence and wanted to try the real thing. We'd known each other since childhood, but we weren't close and didn't play together as young children. Yet, it was a safe kiss. There were no sparks. I don't really remember ever kissing him again.<br />
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I could even say that my "first" kiss was one I'd already written about in another entry in my Live Journal. It was a first kiss from M. It had meaning. There weren't just sparks, there were lightening storms. But it wasn't my first kiss ever. Just the first one that I remember meaning much of anything at all. And in some way I can't help but wonder if every first kiss, in every past relationship doesn't somehow count as "your first kiss".<br />
<br />
Maybe I'm just stalling because I never really liked kissing before I met M. Maybe my body knew what my brain did not fully realize (that I didn't care for kissing) until I met M and my life changed forever, and so before that point, my body chose to give me a mildly repulsed reaction to the act of kissing? <br />
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Ultimately though, I know when my first real kiss was. This is it, in great detail. Brace yourselves...<br />
<br />
<em>It is a day in April 1975. I have spent almost a month between a hospital and then, a foster home. I am brand new to this world and I don't think I've found a home or a bond that will last. I don't know what my foster mother or father look like. I don't know if I've kept them up each night, as newborns do. I don't know what room I am in, what my crib or bassinet is like, or even where I really am.</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<em>I know that I am fed formula. A lot. And on this day in April 1975, I am bundled into a blanket, and then into a car. </em><br />
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<em>I am taken somewhere else. There is a hand over to someone else. And then another one, again.</em><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em><br />
</em></div><em>A woman takes me, with something like tears in her eyes. She looks into my blanket and I look back. She looks happy, shocked. And then she kisses me softly on my forhead and says, "Hello, little girl. I'm your mother."</em><br />
<em> </em><em>She is not the woman I was born to almost a month ago. She is not the woman that has been feeding me and changing my diapers for the last month. She is, in fact, my very own, real mommy. For the first time in my short life, I am kissed by own mommy. It is the most enduring first kiss that any child will ever have and it lasts forever.</em><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I don't know that it actually happened that way, but I like to think that it did.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><strong><em>What do you think?</em></strong></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-48422985219489898552010-09-16T16:24:00.000-04:002010-09-16T16:24:00.567-04:00On Poop<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/w/wi/windchime/170570_almost_out_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/w/wi/windchime/170570_almost_out_2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>There are a great many things that I never thought I would say in my lifetime...and among them, the following utterance probably ranked right near the top: "Now remember, don't pee on <a href="http://www.nickjr.com/ni-hao-kai-lan/">Ni Hao</a> honey. It will make her saaaad."<br />
<br />
So began our final journey into a diaper free world last Sunday. It's been almost a year since <a href="http://momonreserve.blogspot.com/2009/11/potty-bathmat-and-me.html">A bought her own potty</a>, but last week, she also picked her own underpants.<br />
<br />
For the record: Ni Hao was the compromise. Even though she doesn't watch <a href="http://www.nickjr.com/dora-the-explorer/">Dora the Explorer</a>, she knows who Dora is. I hate Dora. We both agreed on Ni Hao. (And don't talk to me about Dora being the same as Ni Hao. They're not. I don't hate Ni Hao.)<br />
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Fortunately, play skool also potty trains. And of course, because she's an angel at play skool, she's a champion potty-goer there too. But at home, especially this weekend, after a week in underpants, we've had more out of the potty than in, or so it seems. She refuses to poop in the potty at all here, although I'm bribing her with sparkly, shiny stickers as of todaytty, so who knows.<br />
<br />
Last Monday, I spent 40 minutes in the bathroom waiting for a poop. I showed her how to make the "I'M POOPING!" face; I sang the pooping song. I applauded poop. And I thought to myself, when I used to say I was in the shit, especially overseas, I never thought that someday it would come to mean this. My, how the toughest do fall...<br />
<br />
That was the first, and last, potty poop thus far.<br />
<br />
Now, I am so tired of poop. I know we're in the beginning stages, but poop is poop and I have "potty trained" enough puppies in my day to know that I'm so damn <em>done</em> with cleaning up accidents, especially poop. If I never see another poop where it doesn't belong again, it will be too soon. Even my own mother, mother of all mothers, sent me a text on Monday that said, "Potty training is a good form of birth control."<br />
<br />
I texted back saying that was true, but it's also a milestone, and almost typed millstone instead.<br />
<br />
I know we'll get there. She's great with not peeing on Ni Hao, <a href="http://yogabbagabba.com/#">Yo Gabba Gabba</a>, or her frogs. It's just that I don't like poop. I really don't like poop.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>Tips or tricks on potty training you'd like to share?</em></strong>Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-82830745730821250612010-09-14T11:23:00.000-04:002010-09-14T11:23:00.126-04:00Down Home Wisdom - Not Always Wise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/r/ro/royalshot/1288797_woman_with_headphones_listening_to_music.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" ox="true" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/r/ro/royalshot/1288797_woman_with_headphones_listening_to_music.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>There is a saying, probably as old as the hills. It is a saying that, for some reason, middle-aged women often lay before me in conversation. It is: "If Momma ain't happy, ain't <em>no one</em> happy!" In every instance, it's followed up with a knowing wink, a little nudge-nudge, and an, "Amiright?"<br />
<br />
I hate that saying. In fact, the next time someone throws it out there in conversation, I'm going to respond, "NO! You are NOT right!!"<br />
<br />
Let's nevermind the fact that I believe that <em>any</em> unhappy family member will, to a greater or lesser degree, affect the general happiness of the entire family. In the last couple of weeks especially, I have come to determine that ultimately, in families with young toddlers, the real saying should be, "If baby ain't happy, ain't no one happy."<br />
<br />
Never had I dreamt of the power of a two year old. She does determine when we will be happy and when we will not. If misery loves company, then there are many days where she's got close companions in this household for sure. <br />
<br />
An irate, irritable, or just plain stubborn two year old is capable of pegging the family's Happy Meter at zero. In fact, there are times when I'm fairly sure that she's engineering the Happy Meter to reach into the negative numbers. <br />
<br />
I understand the age. I understand the push and pull, the Jekyll and Hyde, the love and loathing. I've just never experienced it so acutely, so clearly, as I have lately. I mean, it's bad enough that we are, apparently, nothing more than trained circus bears, here for her amusement ("MOMMY! SING A SONG!" - mentally, I always add a "DIDI MAU" to this, and the many other like it, demand(s))...<br />
<br />
Now, we're only allowed happiness when she is happy. <br />
<br />
Nope. Mothers do not mandate the mood in their households. Their children do. And while it is possible to remain happy in spite of a tiny whirling dervish's best efforts, they are still at the forefront of Mood Control.<br />
<br />
Best of luck with that. And the next time someone starts to say to you, "If Momma ain't..." - slap them for me, will you?Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-84464128864965720972010-09-12T16:24:00.000-04:002010-09-12T16:24:39.480-04:00Like a Bucket of Ice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/s/sm/smicko/1160602_bike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" ox="true" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/s/sm/smicko/1160602_bike.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I am an emergency responder. A attends day care at my place of work. These two facts don't seem, on the surface, to be at all related and in fact, I had neatly compartmentalized them into two separate bins myself...until a couple of weeks ago.<br />
<br />
When I dropped A off, her teacher said, "Hey, big day tomorrow, Miss A!" and looked at me. "She doesn't do well with evacuations. It scares her." <br />
<br />
Because I was currently rummaging about in the "Dropping of fat Daycare" bin in my brain, I gave her a blank look. "Um, and what's tomorrow?"<br />
<br />
She looked at me funny in turn. "The active shooter exercise? You know? The whole base?" <br />
<br />
Oh. Damn. I did know. I knew because my job puts me in the nerve center for response and command and control. But then, I didn't know because daycare is...well, not located in that mental compartment. <br />
<br />
I knew when A was evacuated, twice the week prior, for smell of smoke in the facility. And I knew about what had happened during the first evacuation. But I wasn't part of that because it was small in scale and easily handled by first responders. I also knew that she, along with many other kids, didn't do well with it. So, we talked about it on the way home and now, she's walking us through fire drills. She doesn't like the alarms, but she's working through it.<br />
<br />
What I never really considered though, was the simple fact that, if something does happen here that requires a full reponse, I'll be, well, responding. I suppose that some people might find that comforting, but the problem I see with it is that my job mandates that I know what's going on. Most other parents with children in day care don't know what's going on until a while after it's happened.<br />
<br />
And then I did the unthinkable in this particular situation: I started to think, as I drove from daycare to my office, about high impact targets on the base. And if I were a gunman, I'd go for the heart and soul. And to me, that's the kids. It was like I'd been punched in the stomach.<br />
<br />
What danger have I unthinkingly put my daughter in? It gnawed at me all day and most of that night. I also berated myself for not thinking about it before. What kind of parent <em>am I</em>?<br />
<br />
The exercise, however, came and went. Instead of dwelling on my daughter, hunkering down in the designated safe room with the rest of the class, my focus was on command and control and what was happening out there and what we needed to do <em>in here</em>. <br />
<br />
In the end, the kids, including my daughter, did well. They played games involving being quiet and actually had fun. They had no idea what was happening, or why. As it should have been. I try not to think too much about it either, but sometimes, it creeps up on me. I work on a potential target for bad people to do bad things, moreso than most other places of business. My daughter is growing up in many ways there too. The benefits outweigh the risk, but what sort of parent am I that I never before thought of that risk?<br />
<br />
<strong><em>What do you think? Is civilian daycare safer than military daycare or are military parents inherently more at risk?</em></strong>Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-23138207346937391862010-09-07T21:00:00.000-04:002010-09-07T21:00:17.342-04:00I Never Thought I Would See This Day...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/l/li/lilgoldwmn/904099_army.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/l/li/lilgoldwmn/904099_army.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>As A and I walked out into the beautiful, sunlight afternoon today, I looked down at her while she trotted alongside me, watching her feet for anything interesting they might happen across. I stroked her golden hair and thought, I did this for you. No one else but you.<br />
<br />
Today was a bittersweet day. In my last post, I made brief mention of the fact that I would probably be going into the <a href="http://www.arpc.afrc.af.mil/library/factsheets/factsheet.asp?id=8925">Individual Ready Reserve (IRR)</a>. There's no more probably about it. I submitted my letter requesting the transfer today, knowing that I had my commander's verbal authorization already.<br />
<br />
I don't know how I feel right now. The idea of not wearing a uniform for a period of <em>years</em> is foreign to me and it makes my skin crawl. Knowing that I can come back (and will) isn't exactly the consolation prize that I had hoped for. I do, after all, have 11 years of my life invested in this endeavor and part of me feels like I should have my boots in the sand right now - not my butt in a comfy chair.<br />
<br />
Yet, I know that I'm doing this for all of the right reasons. I can't operate effectively when I'm needed at home in the way that I have been. So even though I feel adrift and more than just a little lost right now, I also feel a sense of relief and freedom. I'll have more time here. More time to just be here, with her. With M. More time to support them without worrying, even if it was only subconsciously. If something happens, I'll be here. There won't be any more conflicting work schedules to worry about for a long time. It <em>is </em>a relief. <br />
<br />
And yet...<br />
<br />
I can't fully express how hard this decision was for me. I put off the letter for as long as I could. But it's done, with no takesies-backsies. I'm not sure when I'll return yet, or even where I'll return to. But I will come back. I have to. <br />
<br />
Just...not now. Not while I have this golden haired viking's tiny little hand still holding so tightly to mine. Not at this time in her life.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>Thoughts?</em></strong>Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-17440962302988054312010-09-04T21:00:00.000-04:002010-09-04T21:00:12.483-04:00Labor Day Again?!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/d/de/deste/898375_summer_end.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" ox="true" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/d/de/deste/898375_summer_end.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I'm not ready for this. Even though it's not the official End of Summer, it's really...the End of Summer. Even as Un-Hurricane Earl passed last night, the oppressive summer weather we'd had for...well...ever, evaporated literally overnight in his wake. <br />
<br />
More importantly, it was actually only yesterday that we <a href="http://momonreserve.blogspot.com/2010/04/mommy-i-have-birfday-soon-chirped.html">celebrated A's second birthday</a>. That was at the beginning of spring and I just refuse to believe that the summer passed us by that quickly.<br />
<br />
Granted, August was a whirling dervish of weddings, work, TDY, and out of country guests. I expected it to go quickly. And June and July were, well, spent in a cocoon of hospitals and doctors.<br />
<br />
So even though we're not packing A off to Kindergarten, and I didn't have to shop for school supplies, I still feel like I've been ripped off and am owed a summer. Granted, the oppressive humidity was enough to make me welcome autumn weather. And yes, I'm looking forward to crunchy leaves, pumpkins, and apples. Because I'm a bit soppy when it comes to autumn and I require these rather trite, traditional things. Perhaps moreso now that I'm a parent.<br />
<br />
Yet...this also means that in just over a half year's time, we'll be ramping up for a third birthday. I'm not loving this time flying thing that comes with parenthood. <br />
<br />
On the other hand, I'll soon be an Individual Ready Reservist as opposed to a traditional reservist. This may help time slow a little. I won't live drill-to-drill, tour-to-tour. I'll be able to focus on where I'm most needed which, at the moment, is still here. But it won't get me my summer back. <br />
<br />
I demand a refund!!Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-33483413814039192792010-08-18T20:39:00.000-04:002010-08-18T20:39:48.995-04:00Is Anyone Still Out There?Just a little over a month ago, I officially logged off. My status as a mother on reserve had change to full-time, active duty. This was no Title 10 or 32 order, but a definitive look at what my priorities were - and unfortunately, writing was not, and could not, be one of them for a while.<br />
<br />
A had been sick for the better part of a month-and-a-half and we had been warned that her symptoms were consistent with Leukemia. So, until we received a diagnosis, and until I could breathe, and until she was generally better, my life, the one I call my very own (not the one I call mother or wife or colleague or Sergeant) ceased.<br />
<br />
Now, we know that she does not have Leukemia. Nor does she have the legion of options we were given. We don't know what it is/was, but we know what it wasn't. And we know that she's progressing well. The almost daily calls to pick her up from daycare have tapered off and life has resumed a semblance of normalcy. <br />
<br />
I still find that I'm holding my breath sometimes, especially when the phone at work rings. I know now that we still have many more visits to various practitioners, but <a href="http://www.childrenshospital.org/">Boston Children's Hospital</a> is the best there is, so I also have faith that she's in wonderful hands.<br />
<br />
Our new normal, however, has also meant that I'm seeking leave of military duties for now and placing myself into the inactive ready reserve (IRR) program. With one car and a high ops tempo between the unit and my job (which is the same thing I do at the unit, just for the active duty), I don't feel comfortable or right being far from home for long. <br />
<br />
I've found that not only am I OK with that idea, I'm relieved about it. It's a weight off of my shoulders. It's one less thing I'll have to wrap my head around for now. And when we're comfortable with either a) her final diagnosis or b) where she is in terms of her overall health, then I'll be able to return with fresh eyes and a refreshed spirit.<br />
<br />
So, I suppose you could say that this is the official <em>return</em> of Mom on Reserve, the Blog. Hopefully I wasn't gone so long that everyone wandered off. <br />
<br />
<strong><em>How have you been, Dear Reader?</em></strong>Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-11662951283124039272010-07-14T19:57:00.001-04:002010-09-04T21:01:27.963-04:00Walking in the ShadowsI owe all of you who have read so regularly both an explanation and an apology. I have not been, and will not be, writing for a while. A is in the process of being diagnosed with an as yet unspecified illness and I have spent the last month home more than at work, ferrying her to doctors and trying my best to keep everything together.<br />
<br />
Not too long after this started, M was "counseled" by his manager that it was his "job" to provide for the family and my duty to stay home with the sick child. I'm the one who, according to his boss, is to tend her, pick her up from daycare, and take the time to go to the doctor's. Never mind that financially, we're dependent on my paycheck...<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, this is all under pain of losing an income on M's end if he doesn't comply. He's not been there long enough to be protected under FMLA. So, we're sucking it up and dealing as best we can, but obviously, if I <i>was</i> a mother in reserve as the name of this blog says, then I clearly have been recalled to active duty.<br />
<br />
I will write as time allows and, as we grow nearer to a diagnosis and, if necessary, the development of a care plan, I'll be able to better budget my time to get this back on track. I love being here and don't want to give it up - but my priorities are a little altered at the moment and free time is a fleeting and random thing that I have taken to sleeping through.<br />
<br />
So, check back (and check on Twitter from time to time - or even Facebook) but know that it doesn't have to be frequently at the moment...and know that, if you enjoyed reading me before, I will be back. Hopefully sooner rather than later.Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-35194620337815822102010-06-23T12:03:00.001-04:002010-09-12T11:41:15.926-04:00Never Mind Hanging Up and Driving. Hang Up, Tune In, and Parent!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/p/px/pxl666/1206745_cell_phone_calling_man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" ru="true" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/p/px/pxl666/1206745_cell_phone_calling_man.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Early last week, before my TDY (translated to civilian-ese, "business trip"), I stumbled across a rather poorly written OpEd piece on <a href="http://www.boston.com/bostonglobe/editorial_opinion/oped/articles/2010/06/14/distracted_parenting_hang_up_and_see_your_baby/">distracted parenting</a>. While I felt that the piece lacked cohesion or a good conclusion, the central point was clear (if only because I'm a parent). Parents who don't focus on their babies' needs or who interact with them in a vague manner fail to teach them key things about themselves and the world around them.<br />
<br />
I remember reading up on newborns when A fell into that category of child - and thinking, "This makes perfect sense". Babies imitate. Your faces are their meter for their actions. Your expressions and tones teach them about the world around them and their relationship with you. In fact, time and again, experts emphasize the fact that the best new baby toy you can "get" for your child is...your face and your voice. <br />
<br />
With that in mind, both M and I focused on A. We talked to one another on the phone when she was sleeping and hung up straight away when she woke or screamed or cried. We didn't let TV or telephones or even music distract us while we fed her or interacted with her. In fact, for the first almost 12-months of her life, the TV was on all day - tuned to the classic music channel. Nothing to watch and soothing music all around helped avoid distractions.<br />
<br />
Now, of course, things have changed. A is a toddler and a very independent one at that, but I haven't been able to help but notice more and more "distracted parents" when we're out and about.<br />
<br />
In Faneuil Hall's North Market on Sunday evening, a young baby began crying while his mother sat, eating her dinner and yelling into her cell phone. As his cries got more persistent and angry, she raised her voice to be heard and idly messed with the carriage. It took 10 minutes (yes, I timed it) before she finally took him out<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>to comfort him, but she still never put the phone down to devote her attention to him and by the time we left, he was still crying. <br />
<br />
Driving home yesterday, a woman crossed in front of the car wearing her iPod headphones, two children who appeared to be about Kindergarten aged in tow. While not the same as talking on a phone and basically ignoring a screaming baby, I've seen more and more mothers and fathers walking with young children, immersed in their own world of music. These particular kids were skipping around this mother, and she just smiled vaguely and walked on while they tugged her shirt, trying to get her attention (as kids that age do).<br />
<br />
I have to wonder, even when kids are older - toddler or school-aged, what message we send when we stick headphones in our ears to walk with them, pick them up from school, ride the subway with them? Headphones, for me at least, have always been an escape from the world around me. They're also a barrier of sorts - one that says, "Leave me alone!" We don't talk to seatmates on planes who have headphones on. We don't bother office mates with the same. So, by plugging in while spending time with our kids, I can't help but think that we're still sending the message that we're tuning them out.<br />
<br />
And yes, every parent needs a break. In the middle of Two-Year-Old-Hell-Month, M and I perform a ballet of sorts during the worst of the storms. We move in and out until the situation is calm, but when we reach our breaking points, the other steps in while the first parent removes and isolates themselves from the situation until whichever one of us it is has re-grouped. There is never a moment where A is completely alone or unsafe or actually disregarded (though I'm sure that she perceives that a little differently...)<br />
<br />
We also need adult time. That's what happens after bedtime for babies. It's what happens once a month when a babysitter comes or she goes up north for an overnight. It's what happens when, basically, when she's not around.<br />
<br />
It's not what we do in the middle of dinner while she's trying to talk, or on a walk home (or anywhere else for that matter) while she's telling us about her day. It's certainly not what we did when the world was a brand new place to her.<br />
<br />
I know that not everyone can turn it off. Many people's jobs demand that they be connected 24/7. Heck, even mine takes me from home more than I'd like and requires that my phone is on 24/7. But that doesn't mean I have to be on Facebook, Twitter, Blogger, the phone bitching about what he said/she said <em>OMGcanyoubelieveit?!</em> at the expense of my priorities which are, in equal order, child and husband.<br />
<br />
I'm really grateful that I didn't stay connected during A's early months of life either. Although M did most of the work as a SAHD, the child before us today is probably a testament to the undivided attention she received then.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>How do you keep engaged ?</em></strong>Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-76006119808291097142010-06-14T09:48:00.001-04:002010-09-12T11:41:34.566-04:00Meet the Fall Guy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://mediacdn.shopatron.com/media/mfg/322/product_image/a1c848f5990e7129df89d24c75b92731.jpg?1225514154" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" qu="true" src="http://mediacdn.shopatron.com/media/mfg/322/product_image/a1c848f5990e7129df89d24c75b92731.jpg?1225514154" width="200" /></a></div>His name? Well, according to the <a href="http://www.uglydolls.com/">Official Ugly Doll website</a>, it's Secret Mission Ice Bat. He can live in the freezer and steal your noms. Be that as it may, according to our daughter, that is Wombat. It is her lovey and God forbid you ever do something like forget him in the doctor's office on a Friday because then you'll have to invent a story about how he was sick too and he had to stay for observation. Over the weekend. But isn't <a href="http://fishcakes.net/cart/">Fishcakes</a> nice? (Don't ask - it's another lovey, second best.)<br />
<br />
Ahem. So anyway...<br />
<br />
With A's imagination in full swing these days, wwe've discovered that she has adapted to her single-childhood well. I grew up with two younger brothers that were close in age (and later, a baby sister who's 10 and a half years my junior, so she missed out on this...) and M grew up with an older brother. That meant that we <em>always</em> had a Fall Guy. <br />
<br />
The Fall Guy was the one you pointed to and said, "HE DID IT!!!" while you were standing in the middle of a pile of broken pottery and your brother was playing innocently across the room. The Fall Guy wrote on the walls, made the mess, jumped on the bed until it broke. <br />
<br />
Sometimes it worked, most times, our parents gave us the hairy eye and then a good talking to or, more likely than not, a sore rear and sent us to bed, even if it was only one in the afternoon.<br />
<br />
Single children, however, don't have that luxury. <em>Or do they</em>? Wombat, as he is lovingly known, <br />
<a name='more'></a>has suddenly developed a penchant for, as A puts it, "Making a mee-yess." In fact, a couple of weeks ago, the poor thing threw up all over the lobby at Play Skool - and looked her father blearily in the eye and moaned, "Uh oh, Daddy. Wombat make a mee-yess."<br />
Wombat was covered in sick, so it stood to reason, yes? She later waited patiently by the laundry room until his bath was done. Talk about devotion!<br />
<br />
While that was the most dramatic example of Wombat taking the hit (literally in that he was thrown up on and figuratively as well), he's also taking the blame more frequently for the daily messes that occur as the direct result of having a two year-old. <br />
<br />
Mostly, it's amusing. She's never reached a point where she absolutely insists that Wombat take full responsibility for clean up of any "mee-yesses" and will often clean up with out being asked, Wombat safely tucked under one arm the whole time.<br />
<br />
I'm eager to see where this goes. I love the magic of the toddler years and I love that, without ever being "taught", even an only child can find her patsy. <br />
<br />
<strong><em>Who was your fall guy growing up? How about your kids?</em></strong>Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-12440899535391102282010-06-11T15:29:00.001-04:002010-09-12T11:42:02.381-04:00The Switch is Flipped<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/t/tr/trexor14/597391_pouting_child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" qu="true" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/t/tr/trexor14/597391_pouting_child.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>It has been a long week. In fact, it feels as though it's been the Longest Week Ever. Between M having serious issues with his job (to the unintentional detriment of the household mood) and A suddenly and ferociously exhibiting every negative aspect of Toddlerdom you can fathom, I am ready for some Mommy/Daddy Alone Time tomorrow night.<br />
<br />
The thing I've realized about this coming of age saga is that it really is as if a switch was turned on, starting Monday. It's the week where Mommy Can Do No Right. A kiss has been enough to set off a litany of wrongs perpetrated unto her, beginning with, "MY HEAD MOMMY! NO TOUCH MY HEAD!! NO KISS MY HEAD!!!! MINE!!!!"and culminating in, "BWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"<br />
<br />
This, of course, will set the tone for the remainder of the day.<br />
<br />
It's also tough to watch. It's hard to see your child losing her mind and inevitably, we can see when things have gotten to the point of no return - that stage of the tantrum wherein the child has forgotten what they were mad about and is now just mad because they're mad and they don't know why they're mad so now they're scared and mad which scares them more...<br />
<br />
You can see where that's going - and seasoned parents, you can please stop pointing and laughing at me now. Really.<br />
<br />
We try to rationalize it anyway. She's mad at me because I've been TDY a lot lately and this started after I returned from drill. She's in a growth<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
spurt and her hormones are raging. She's teething (molars, no less) and it's making her super-cranky and prone to fits. She's picking up on the parental stress going on due to aforementioned job issues. <br />
<br />
It's probably a little of all of that - and a lot of: She's Two.<br />
<br />
Here's the kick in the arse: Her teachers at Play Skool say that she's been a perfect angel all week. That they've actually <em>never</em> seen a tantrum out of her. [facepalm]<br />
<br />
This, too, shall pass. We know that. I worry about my TDY next week though and that these back-to-back-to-back trips will wear both A and M out even more and make it worse.<br />
<br />
Wish us luck.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>How did you weather the tantrum storms of toddlerhood?</em></strong>Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-35494780824898488042010-06-03T14:59:00.001-04:002010-09-12T11:45:48.081-04:00Play-Skool - It's Work Too<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/j/ja/jana_koll/1186333_feet_in_the_grass_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="129" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/j/ja/jana_koll/1186333_feet_in_the_grass_2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I often think that it's a damn shame that we don't really seem to view children as actual people. Usually, these thoughts come when I see light to nearly non-existent sentences for parents found guilty of physical abuse or pedophiles found guilty of repeat offenses. It's easy to see it in those cases - light sentences for those who assault other "almost-but-not-yet-quite-people" just smacks of a certain level of de-humanization to me.<br />
<br />
And I realized last night that on some level, no matter how much we may value our smallest of humans and their very humanity, even the best intended and most loving parents do it too. It was my mini-epiphany for the night when, after ensuring that A was snug in bed, I took a moment to breathe and revel in the silence and reflect on the evening to that point.<br />
<br />
She was quiet, as she often is for a while, on the car ride home. Sometimes, when I ask about her day, she just sticks her thumb in her mouth and gives me The Look which is when I leave her alone. But yesterday, we got home early<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>and actually had time to relax as M had to leave almost immediately for a work related, two-day evening course. <br />
<br />
A and I snuggled and then played a rousing game of "FREEZE!" which she had apparently learned that day, but shortly after, sort of just...wandered off.<br />
<br />
So, I started cleaning a bit and cooking a bit and after a while, peeked in to see her sitting on the couch, playing with her horrible singing teapot. When I asked if she wanted to help me cook (an activity she normally loves) or if I could play with her, she said, "No, Monny. I play teapots." Ooooo-kay then.<br />
<br />
I felt bad because I was feeling like I was focusing too much on the house and Things That Needed Doing and not enough on her, but she didn't <em>want</em> my focus.<br />
<br />
So last night, as I reflected on this, I realized that she has a really, really busy day in school. She's learned so much - a 26 months, she knows all of her colors and tints and shades; she can count to 10; she's adamant about doing for herself and usually, she does it well. Her teachers tell me that even though she counts among the youngest in her class, she's actually the easiest to understand and her verbal skills are at the 3 - 4 year old level, not the 2-year old tier. She spends her days playing, learning, absorbing and <em>surrounded</em> by 13 other shrieking children.<br />
<br />
And I'll be damned if that's not some seriously hard work. When I think about what she does, I get tired immediately. The physical, developmental and emotional changes that come so fast and so furiously at this age, coupled with the activities that are jam packed in to one typical day at school and the amount of pure learning she's doing...it's <em>work</em>. It may be a lot more fun than what we adults call work, but it is hard work for our kids too.<br />
<br />
By discounting that, by not seeing that their job can make them tired and cranky too, we're not giving them credit as humans. We're really not. So what if their job is to play and learn while doing so? They do it a hell of a lot better than we could as adults, but you know, at the end of the day, I like to be alone and have my personal space and time to putter to do what needs doing too.<br />
<br />
On my Needs Doing List, I have things like: Tidy play room, wash dishes, make dinner, post blog updates, network, do work from home. (For the record, I enjoy cleaning when I don't feel rushed - it gives me time to think and occupies my hands while I'm doing it. It can be relaxing when I'm in the right frame of mind and it's the activity I turn to when no other option presents itself.)<br />
<br />
On hers, she has: Play Teapots quietly for an hour, draw at my own table in the sun, lay on the couch and listen to Tad sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" over and over again. These are the things that she enjoys and seem to allow her to decompress.<br />
<br />
I have to remember that more often. Just because she comes to just past my knees doesn't make her any less a normal human being, tired after her long day at work too. Respect that space and poke in once in a while to see that she's still quiet and safe.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>School and play. Work or no? Do you respect your kids' needs for their decompression time too?</em></strong>Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-69395223678680185472010-06-02T14:48:00.001-04:002010-09-12T11:42:26.070-04:00Un-Schooling - Child-Centered or Parental Laziness?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/i/ig/igoghost/1193228_doodled_desks_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="123" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/i/ig/igoghost/1193228_doodled_desks_2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>A few days ago over at <a href="http://www.boston.com/community/moms/blogs/in_the_parenthood/">In the Parenthood</a>, Lylah M. Alphonse asks us, <a href="http://www.boston.com/community/moms/blogs/in_the_parenthood/2010/05/would_you_encourage_your_child_to_drop_out_of_school.html">"Would you support your teen's decision to drop out of high school?"</a> Most of the answers in the comment section were predictable - parents stating that they'd drag their child kicking and screaming if necessary; that anyone who lets their kid do this is trying to be cool, hip, a friend and is, therefore, a bad parent.<br />
<br />
I take a slightly different view because, frankly, in spite of my parents very best efforts, I was a wayward child and no amount of punishment, discipline, dragging (kicking and screaming inncluded), or other more serious efforts could curb my desire to live life on my terms, in my way. So, I support a parent who realizes that ultimately, there comes a time in a child's life when the parent has exhausted all available options except for prison (which seems a wee bit extreme here...) and it may be easier to support their child in their endeavors than fighting them tooth and nail.<br />
<br />
But this afternoon, I came across a flipside to this coin: <a href="http://www.unschooling.com/">Un-schooling</a>. At first blush (a light, grazing, almost non-existent blush at that), un-schooling seems to be an interesting method of exposing your children to the world. No cirriculum, no tests, child-driven learning through-and-through....a little like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montessori_method">Montessori</a> on serious steroids. Except, after reading more in depth and checking out <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Nightline/unschooling-homeschooling-books-tests-rules/story?id=10796507&page=2">this Nightline article</a> where an un-schooler and her family were observed at "work", I had some serious questions about the veracity of this "radical, new school of thought".<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>My first question was, Didn't this philosophy die in the late 1990's? And if not, WHY? <br />
<br />
While I don't trust the integrity of many news media sources, I have to admit that I believe that these kids are probably under-par when compared with other kids their own age in reading, math, and science - and I also believe that they're the sort of kids that other people post about as being "horrible brats" when they experience them in public places. These parents definitely struck me as really just being too lazy to enforce any sort of structure in these kids lives and not actually interested in doing what's best and right for their kids.<br />
<br />
In thinking back, in spite of my wayward youth, I managed to keep myself out of serious trouble and on par with others my age as I grew simply because of the structure and discipline I had already been exposed to before I left home. I always, when making difficult decisions where one choice would have led me down a bad path, had this vision of my parents being sorely disappointed. Not angry, which would have been easy to deal with, but just disappointed and saddened by my own idiocy. That was perhaps the most important guiding light I have had to this day and I wouldn't have had it <em>without </em>that structure, those rules, the discipline and subsequent enforcement.<br />
<br />
Let's face it - if I had been allowed to make my own decisions on every matter at age 2, 4, 5, or 10, I'd have been the most sleep deprived, sugar addled, fat, lazy child known to human-kind. Instead, my parents regulated what I ate, kicked me outside to play, enforced bedtime and TV viewing...but most importantly, thought about my future.<br />
<br />
The most disturbing quote in the Nightline article (and there were so many to choose from!), in my mind, was this: <em>"Martin said that she has "such a present-based mindset" that she doesn't think about her kids futures, and that she just wants them to be happy."</em><br />
<br />
I don't know about you, but I am always thinking about my daughter's future. It impacts the choices I make in the military and at home. It also directly impacts her. I think of her future in education and am looking in to the best schools around (that we can afford) for her. I think of her future health and limit her sugar intake pretty significantly, along with bad fats and other junk food. I think of her physical needs and her physically demanding day and enforce a 7:30 p.m. bedtime during the week because she gets up earlier than most. Along those lines, we enforce routine doctor's visits and take her when she's sick (given my own choice at her age, I wouldn't have seen the doctor. Ever). I think of her safety and don't let her put pennies in the outlets or juggle knives, even though I know for a fact she really, really wants to and that would make her happy up until the moment it made her hurt. <br />
<br />
In spite of all of this apparently cruel and unusual structure that must be stifling her, her teachers tell me that she's so very happy. Strangers on the street who meet her comment on how happy she is. Friends and family note the same. We see it too, in the easy way she laughs and the way she's now intentionally trying to make us laugh. We see it in the way that she loves and even in the way that she contentedly cares for, and plays with her favorite animals and dolls.<br />
<br />
I realize that this un-school of thought is extreme and if only about 150,000 families are openly practicing and advocating it nationally, it's not even a drop in the parenting philosophy bucket. Nevertheless, as someone who will not say "No" when there's just no real good reason to, I can't see how this helps our children along the road of life, or even begins to prepare them for the world. There's also a part of me that nastily hopes that families like the Martins of Madison, NH keep their children close at home for all the rest of their days and don't inflict them on us as ill behaved as it sounds they may be - and as certainly as ill-prepared for dealing with anything in life that they surely will be.<br />
<br />
It is a fine line and at it's surface, seems a bit hypocritical of me to say given my thoughts on letting children go after a certain point in their lives. I know.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>Is un-schooling a damaging school of thought or is it no better or worse than allowing teenaged kids latitude to make potentially life-altering, bad decisions and supporting them along the way?</em></strong>Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-64394694024183110442010-05-31T20:32:00.002-04:002010-09-12T11:42:41.911-04:00Today We Remember<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/l/li/linder6580/1189710_memorial_day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="200" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/l/li/linder6580/1189710_memorial_day.jpg" width="164" /></a></div>Today, some flags were flown half-mast. Most were not. Some people were sleeping off the weekend food and drink hangovers. Most were continuing the revelry with barbeques and beach trips. And as we celebrated the unofficial start to summer like most other Americans, doing much the same, a small part of my brain kept whispering, "Remember".<br />
<br />
<div></div>While some, as evidenced in the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/davis_square/2240876.html?nc=6&style=mine">Davis Square Live Journal community</a>, believe that Memorial Day is a day to celebrate war, others, like my family, take the time to remember. <br />
<br />
<div></div>Memorial Day is not a day to celebrate. Nor is it a day to warmonger and it certainly shouldn't be a day to further polarize an already split populace.<br />
<br />
<div></div>It is just a day to remember. <br />
<br />
<div></div><ul><li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Buckley, Eugene US Navy WWII Died: 2005</div></li>
<li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Coughlin, Richard US Navy Vietnam Died: 2006</div></li>
<li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Greenwood, Robert US Army Korea Died: 2003</div></li>
<li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Harrington, Fred US Army Air Corps WWII Died: 2004</div></li>
<li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Hersey, Kenneth US Navy WWII Died: 2009</div></li>
<li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Jack US Army Air Corps WWII Died: 2003</div></li>
<li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Mahoney, John US Air Force Vietnam Died: 2009</div></li>
<li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Nadeau, Ralph US Marines Vietnam Died: 2008</div></li>
<li><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Thoms, Robert US Army Korea Died: 2008</div></li>
</ul><br />
<div></div>All of these men touched me in a way that will remain with me, in my heart, for the rest of my life. Were it not for their service, I wouldn't know them. Were it not for their service, they wouldn't have wended their way into my life to leave their lasting marks, their memories, their stories.<br />
<br />
<div></div>Today, I heard them in the surf as I laid on the beach. I saw them in the light of my child's eyes as she laughed and played with friends at a neighbor's cookout. They were all buried with military honors, though too many of them left this world alone, in pain, and in ways we never would have expected.<br />
<br />
<div></div>So take a moment before you go to bed tonight, please. And just...remember. That's really what this weekend is all about.Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-11902986955847625402010-05-24T15:15:00.001-04:002010-09-12T11:43:03.482-04:00Never Trust a Friend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/m/ma/marganz/627116_coyote_sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="200" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/m/ma/marganz/627116_coyote_sign.jpg" width="102" /></a></div>We are fortunate to live in one of the greener urban areas in this nation - and by that, I don't necessarily mean "environmentally correct" (though we are, as a community, that too). Boston and the immediate "suburbs" (hard to tell where the city ends, really) boast parks and green stands both large and small, including riverwalks, bike paths, beaches and wooded areas. These are, for all intents and purposes, Open to the Public, free to use by any and all, free to enjoy.<br />
<br />
But naturally, with parks comes maintenance and with maintenance comes cost and with the threat of losing some of this public space due to cost come, as inevitably as the red tides of summer, the Friends. <br />
<br />
Most Friends start off as small groups of devoted users of trails, land, parks, beaches. They are as attached to those spaces as barnacles are to the hull of a fishing boat (and eventually, prove much harder to scrape away). Friends might even be considered devotees, if one were inclined to be snarky (which one <em>never</em> is inclined to be, oh no). Friends have time to devote to their friendship. Friends have money to devote to their friendship. Friends are usually well intentioned at the outset (please recall the paving stones along the route to hell), but over time, and with enough money in the coffers, Friends morph into something else...something more sinister...<br />
<br />
They are no longer Friends. They are Owners. But make no mistake, you will never meet a president of a group calling itself, "Owners of the...[insert park, beach, trail here]". It just doesn't have the same, upbeat tone to it as "Friends of the..." does it? It's not as welcoming. Of course, they're not actually owners of anything except a stake in the resource in question, owing to the fact that they've thrown so much money at it to remain devoted friends that usually, government entities like DCR throw themselves prostrate as the friends walk by, begging them not to remove their funding.<br />
<br />
And so it has been with mild bemusement that I've watched the saga that is <a href="http://www.boston.com/yourtown/news/malden/2010/05/draft_trail_plan_includes_expa.html">The Fells Land Use</a> unfold<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
over the last year. <a href="http://www.mass.gov/dcr/parks/metroboston/fells.htm">The Fells</a> is a woodland area just outside the city of Boston and it's a park I'm very familiar with, having walked my dogs there (when I still had them) on many a Sunday. It's also the park where I climbed steep hills over rough terrain to start my physical conditioning before basic training in 1999. I haven't been back since I returned from my interlude to the midwest in 2006.<br />
<br />
But I've been meaning to. It's just that, well, it doesn't feel like a park I'd be welcome in anymore. As <a href="http://www.fellsbiker.com/">cyclists</a> and hikers and <a href="http://www.massaudubon.org/">conservationists</a> and <a href="http://www.melrosedogsociety.org/">dog owners</a> duke out the realignment of the trail systems, one thing has become clear to me: <a href="http://www.fells.org/">The Friends of the Fells</a> are calling the shots. They're the most well-to-do and deeply entrenched of all of the voices of the community (I use that term with much sarcasm) when it comes to Fells land use and they do seem to throw their weight around heavily when it comes to plans that the DCR may have for the future.<br />
<br />
Heck, until this all unfolded, I never knew that <a href="http://www.boston.com/yourtown/news/melrose/2010/05/dog_owners_howling_over_middle.html">Sheepfold wasn't a legal off-leash park</a> (oops!), although I did know that it was a <a href="http://www.wickedlocal.com/medford/news/x902731589">hook-up spot for gay men looking for casual encounters</a> (link is totally SFW - it only leads to a news story about this) - and I did watch a toddler pick up a used condom once, poor thing. His parents almost died.<br />
<br />
And it dawns on me that, when it comes to being a voice of the community, I'm mute. Not because I don't write or attend community meetings, not because I don't use our parks, not because I don't try to speak up if I feel it's necessary...but because I'm neither a home owner nor am I monied. These things exclude me from most groups (even the illustrious Maplewood Association, a group of home owners in my neighborhood who never return e-mails or phone calls seeking entry in to the next meeting to discuss neighborhood issues). <br />
<br />
Yet, I don't necessarily believe that parks or other resources need groups of organized friends and I wonder why we never hear about these Friends until things like the Fells Battle come to a head. <br />
<br />
So what <em>do </em>I believe in when it comes to community and natural resources? Welll...picking up the litter around the playground at the end of my street for a start. I believed in bagging and tossing my dog's poop when I had dogs. I believed in leashing Ilsa when we walked the Fells because of her tendency to attack any dog smaller than her (or larger for that matter). I believe in putting waste in my pocket or pack or any available rubbish bin. I believed in helping dirtbike riders clear trails and keep them groomed in areas where I rode. I think it's nice when mountain bikers are cognizant of the trails they ride and make an effort to not hit the walkers. I also think it's nice when other walkers or hikers move to one side of the trail to let those on bikes, or moving faster than they are, pass them by with minimum fuss. <br />
<br />
At home, we teach A not to run into other people's yards. For one, we've no idea what crap they've put down to make their lovely green grass so lovely. And green. Not only that, it's a respect thing. We respect that your lovely green grass took some care and you probably don't want random people trodding all over it. We also take care to remove rubbish when we see it. Simple principles like: Respect those around you, they have rights too; and It doesn't matter if it's not yours, it's trash and someone should throw it away, feature heavily into her early life lessons.<br />
<br />
I wonder where, and how, as adults, we became so complacent that we let Friends edge out all of the actual users of resources and the actual bulk of community members? This, of course, has to lead to special interest groups forming to compete and make <em>their</em> voices heard (Friends by any other name...) and it seems to end up in a horrible cacophany of everyone shouting about their individual or group rights to use public space while the majority of users just sit meekly in a corner and wait for the power play to end so we can get back to quietly using these things that we love, picking up others' rubbish as we make our way along. <br />
<br />
It also seems to me that when these Friends talk about community use, they mean their gated community and not my open one. They mean that you need to be the Right Sort of Person, which usually involves having the Right Sort of House and Right Sort of Bank Account. They also, coincidentally, only care about areas like Sheepfold when those areas appear to be threatened by other user groups, but otherwise, I've never seen a Friend out there picking up used condoms or proposing ideas to make the area <em>less </em>appealing for random sexual encounters - and then seeing those ideas through to implementation. I have, however, seen disgusted dog owners policing the area with their pooper scoopers while their dogs play. But those people probably aren't the Right Kind and now, have threatened the Friends' friendship with the Fells.<br />
<br />
I also often wonder if our resources that have Friends could speak and interact, would they actually be friends back with these groups or would they shake their heads along with the rest of us?<br />
<br />
Whatever the case, it is my fervent wish that someday, these resources are still available to our family, even though we have no savings, we do have children, and we might someday have a dog again. Who knows? A may find that she loves mountain biking too. Of course, if the friends have their way, it'll probably only be viewable from afar.Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-10732916747977064242010-05-21T17:22:00.002-04:002010-09-12T11:43:18.343-04:00Gosh. I Feel Like a Woman. [snerk]<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/e/eg/egahen/962546_medical_care.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="200" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/e/eg/egahen/962546_medical_care.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>A wasn't feeling herself last night. We could see that. M told me that she put his hand on her belly while he was reading her good-night stories last night and whispered, "Hold, Daddy." She was tired and warm, two signs of pending illness for sure.<br />
<br />
She wasn't up to par this morning either, but when I took her temperature, it was normal. So, we got on with our day. I did let her teachers know that she wasn't altogether well, but with no fever, I couldn't justify taking the day off (especially since I have next to no paid time off to take and a buffet platter of work and meetings and training that's overflowing) and, I thought, M's job won't let him go if I'm around.<br />
<br />
And there's the rub. Mechanics, you see, are <em>men</em>. <em>Men</em> don't do women's work. At least, that's the prevailing sentiment that I see over and over again. When M told the last Service Manager they had that he was leaving to stay home with his infant daughter full-time, the man actually accused him of lying to cover up the fact that he <em>must</em> be going to another dealership. And when I was <a href="http://momonreserve.blogspot.com/2010/05/new-way-to-feel-bad.html">in the field</a>, they were unhappy with him for leaving early by 15 minutes each day to make sure he could get to A before the center closed. Never mind that they <em>knew</em> this would be when they hired him...<br />
<br />
In fact, the HR woman at one dealership he interviewed at actually reacted with a, "What do you mean, your wife may deploy? I don't know if we can<br />
<a name='more'></a> work with that..." when he told her that the hours would have to be a little flexible. Needless to say, he didn't end up working there.<br />
<br />
So, although the <a href="http://www.manufacturing.net/News-Census-Finds-More-Stay-At-Home-Dads-011510.aspx">number of stay-at-home-dads</a> <em>and</em> <a href="http://www.awomansnation.com/economy.php">"breadwinner" mothers</a> are on the rise, why are so many blue collar professions still so unwilling to see that maybe there are men out there who not only want to, but can afford (career-wise) to take more time off to tend to sick kids than their wives?<br />
<br />
On the other hand, maybe real root cause of so many parental woes when it comes to figuring out who has to leave work to pick up and tend the sick child could be saved if childcare centers weren't so quick to <a href="http://pediatrics.aappublications.org/cgi/content/abstract/peds.2009-2283v1">send kids home unnecessarily?</a> Granted, this study took place in Wisconsin (where we don't live), but anecdotal evidence certainly shows that most daycare centers, no matter what the state, have similar trends. In fact, A's center recently made us get a HEP A vaccine for her because the APA recommends the vaccine between 12 and 23 months of age which means that the Air Force mandates it, even though her pediatrician doesn't normally administer until around age 4. Yet, for all of the causes cited in the abstract that the APA recommends against sending children home, the center will give you one hour to come and get your child.<br />
<br />
I wish I knew of a center like <a href="http://www.allbusiness.com/public-administration/administration-human/3995571-1.html">Huggs and Kisses in Alabama</a> - a center specifically designed to provide care to mildly ill children so that parents don't <em>have</em> to take time they may not have - around me here. Then again, I also wish that my employer saw fit to understand the need for emergency child care. But, since they only give employees one sick day a year and are now mandating that you take FMLA time for any sick period that extends to 3 days or longer, I'd definitely be better off sh...er...spitting in the one hand rather than wishing in the other.<br />
<br />
Yet, as I type, A is eating mangoes and drinking water from my water bottle, watching Curious George and giggling. She doesn't have a low-grade temperature at all at this point, and I suspect that she would have been fine with a nap at the center. <br />
<br />
Instead, I canceled my meetings and the training for managers I was supposed to conduct, had a brief hotwash with my boss with respect to the mass round of layoffs hitting our unit today and next week...and went and got her. <br />
<br />
M's reaction? "Next time, f**k 'em. I'll just tell them you have actual real stuff to do and they can suck it. I stayed home with her for two years. I should be the one getting her on short notice like this."<br />
<br />
I don't think of it quite like that. Taking turns isn't unreasonable though. I also reminded him that his job is equally as important as mine. The difference is that it's harder to re-schedule meetings with colonels and generals than it is to pass off a car to someone else to finish - if there's even one in the works. Neither job is better or worse, more or less important. Just easier or more difficult to re-arrange time on. <br />
<br />
But, my boss understands. I only wish that M's bosses did too.Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-88071752366041593412010-05-18T09:01:00.002-04:002010-09-12T11:44:14.064-04:00Motherhood and Youth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/l/lu/lusi/1165841_make_up_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/l/lu/lusi/1165841_make_up_.jpg" width="200" wt="true" /></a></div>Sunday morning found us shopping at Target for some necessities (diapers) and a few incidentals as well. A excitedly picked out what I can only describe as the LOUDEST PAIR OF PANTS EVER - leggings with large seahorses printed on, in every color of the rainbow. Of course, we got the matching top which was far more subdued - a turquoise blue with two seahorses, nose to nose. On her, it's adorable. Loud, but appropriate. And I remarked to M later that night, "It must be nice to be 2 and be able to wear something that loud and pull it off."<br />
<br />
"Well," he said, "There are more than a few women who..."<br />
<br />
I didn't let him finish the thought. "I SAID, <em>and pull it off.</em>"<br />
<br />
"Ah. Good point."<br />
<br />
I was thinking of the article I had read earlier in the day that discussed, rather venomously, <a href="http://www.boston.com/community/moms/articles/2010/05/13/why_are_so_many_moms_smitten_with_todays_teen_idols/">youth obsessed mothers</a>, particularly those who share crushes with their tween and teen daughters. My initial reaction was to be mildly revolted by these women<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>but after several re-reads, I found that my disgust extended to the author as well. It's no secret that we live in a society where culturally, we are obsessed with youth and more often these days, we read about this obsession manifesting itself in the hyper-sexualization of our daughters, often as young as toddlers. Our teenaged girls are obsessed with being viewed as sexually available adults and really, the only way I can think to explain our little ones parading around stages in <a href="http://www.boston.com/community/moms/blogs/in_the_parenthood/2010/05/miley_cyrus_new_video_too_sexy_too_soon_or_par_for_the_course.html">barely-there stripper outfits</a> is to say that their own mothers are living vicariously through them. That is, by the way, being nice about it. <br />
<br />
Yet somehow, the author in the article on moms and daughters manages to actually make his words mock women over 20 - "For starters, the societal fixation with youth leads some people to believe they are still, in fact, young." At 35, my older friends tell me how young I still am. I still get carded for beer and to get into bars (and often, these events lead to apologies from the person carding me when they see my date of birth). I know that I am not young, but nor am I old. I am, simply, where I am in my life and I learned as a teenager, living on my own, that youth is more a state of mind after, say, age 13. In some sad cases, depending on your life thus far, you can have youths who are aged well beyond my paltry 35 years.<br />
<br />
My friend and brilliant photographer, <a href="http://drowningwoman.net/">Shadow Angelina</a>, discussed this with me when she was visiting back in March. "You hardly have the skin of a 35-year old!" she proclaimed. She's right, but our markers are our mothers and grandmothers. Her Memere, at age 19, looked to be in her 40's. My own mother, in her 60's, looks to me as though she's maybe in her early 50's or what I grew up thinking of as late 40's, though that doesn't really fly anymore. I trust her opinion as she finds beauty in women and brings it out with her lens, no matter what or how young or old.<br />
<br />
It's in how we care for ourselves, and, again, as our intrepid author noted, "...both generations wear similar clothes, drink the same lattes and collegially follow "American Idol" and "Glee' is a factor..."<br />
<br />
But is that actually a product of grown women trying to be more youthful or young girls trying to be more grown? At 13, I wasn't allowed coffee, never mind lattes. I had no desire to wear business attire and I'm sure that my own mother was not about to run out and by Doc Martens and a Sex Pistols shirt. I might have been allowed to watch "American Idol" had it existed then, but if I had developed a crush on any teeny-bopper, she certainly wouldn't have shared it with me. Thank God. <br />
<br />
And I don't understand a fully grown woman who actually has a blanky emblazoned with a teen idol on it. Similarly, I snickered (yes, I did) at the mother I saw at the ball field wearing neon pink sweatpants with "LOVE" emblazoned across her arse, in rhinestones. There is, to my mind, a very, very narrow window of time in a young woman's life where such pants are almost acceptable and it's somwhere between 21 and 23. It's trashy no matter the age, but almost do-able during that period of time. Afterwards, to me, it just smacks of desperation. Give me my jeans and t-shirts on my day off, thank you very much. Timeless, ageless. <br />
<br />
So, while I don't feel or think that I am "old", act old, look old or even dress old, you won't catch me mooning over a 16-year old boy (ew), nor will you find me struggling into rainbow seahorse print leggings or mini skirts in an effort to re-capture my youth. <br />
<br />
You will find me asking this though: Why don't we just allow ourselves to be? Take care of yourself, your skin, your fitness, your health. Be truly happy with where and who you are and you'll <em>be</em> radiant (the ultimate in creating a youthful appearance). The most beautiful young women I know are often times older than I am, but they're confident in themselves and where they are in their lives and these things combine to create a glow that no amount of lack of sleep or poopy diapers or chaotic schedules can squelch. They certainly don't need to compete with their daughters for a turn on the pole.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>Are women trying to hard to be young or are young girls trying to hard to be women? Is it somewhere in between and how do you teach your daughters what's age-appropriate?</em></strong>Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-23254252001052380052010-05-17T22:06:00.002-04:002010-09-12T11:49:47.122-04:00Level 1 Prohibitory Monsters - Do You or Don't You?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlj87auGKEwDbrvIbZcW9EZt1defghjLnaK-0kGPIU5_nlCrvg8Jh_WTcw-8z4ofPWeyVX4SMPbBFlG7-mffFPcDAuOK6Ojw4H6i-sw80-Zh86X9PyZyuuudqXMJze0T8F_6mfCg4lcwy/s1600/926120_little_flower_girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlj87auGKEwDbrvIbZcW9EZt1defghjLnaK-0kGPIU5_nlCrvg8Jh_WTcw-8z4ofPWeyVX4SMPbBFlG7-mffFPcDAuOK6Ojw4H6i-sw80-Zh86X9PyZyuuudqXMJze0T8F_6mfCg4lcwy/s200/926120_little_flower_girl.jpg" width="200" wt="true" /></a></div>Lately, I've been reading a lot of <a href="http://www.terrypratchettbooks.com/">Terry Pratchett</a>. So much so, in fact, that I'm sort of wondering myself when I'll pick up a different genre again. I suppose it has a lot to do of being immersed so deeply in the rather humorless work of the government grind - I need someplace fun and satirical to escape to when I read. Yet I find that, not only is Terry Pratchett funny, he's also extraordinarily intelligent. So I was rather excited to get my mitts on a copy of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Folklore-Discworld-Terry-Pratchett/dp/0385611005">The Folklore of Discworld</a>, wherein he and a British folklorist, <a href="http://www.penguin.co.uk/nf/Author/AuthorPage/0,,1000029230,00.html">Jacqueline Simpson</a>, explore the myths of Discworld and Earth (and the remarkable cross between the two worlds). It's both entertaining and educational - and being in the throes now of a time in our daughter's life where there can be no doubt that Magic and Monsters exist, one section gave me a lot of pause to think and wonder.<br />
<br />
In several chapters, particularly on races (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norse_dwarves">dwarves</a> and <a href="http://www.mythencyclopedia.com/Tr-Wa/Trolls.html">trolls</a> featuring highly here), <a href="http://www.articlesbase.com/art-and-entertainment-articles/where-do-elves-come-from-125519.html">Elves</a>, and the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nac_Mac_Feegle">Nac Mac Feegle</a>, our own ancient myths and legends through the years are dissected - and discussed in terms<br />
<a name='more'></a> of Then and Now.<br />
<br />
So, how did you grow up? Did you know the <em>real</em> <a href="http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm.html">Brothers Grimm</a> as I did? Or thought I did until I learned the <em>real, original</em> version of Cinderella (according to Jacqueline Simpson in the book, her "slipper" was actually a fur glove. wink wink). My Opa, a man from The Olde Worlde (born in 1902, thank you) ensured that I was blessed with a beautiful, gilt edged <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/051709293X">Brothers Grimm book of fairy tales</a> - and in retrospect, they were <em>not</em> nice. I knew <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baba_Yaga">Baba Yaga</a> and her hut that spun on chicken legs, along with her flying mortar or, sometimes, cauldron. Therefore, I knew that witches were evil. I knew about murdering stepmothers, lands in the well, and that kissing frogs yielded princes. <br />
<br />
But I never knew about <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A2922176">Jenny Greenteeth</a> in any local ponds, nor did I know of any picts or elves waiting to carry me away if I strayed from the beaten path in the woods where I played so often. There was no <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bloody_Bones">Rawhead and Bloody Bones</a> (outside of Hollywood) to eat me up should I answer the door while my parents were out.<br />
<br />
All of these legends, monsters that Terry Pratchett dubs "prohibitory" (for by now obvious reasons, I'm sure), didn't exist. The context of the Brothers Grimm's stories were lost on me and so they didn't inspire much by way of fear.<br />
<br />
Instead, I was raised on a steady diet of monsters of a different sort: Strangers. Beware the stranger who offers you candy! Run from the stranger who asks if you want to see his or her puppy. Strangers steal little children and torture and murder them. And somehow, this terrified me more than a thousand Baba Yagas flying through the night in her mortar, in search of children out past to dark to eat alive. Because these Prohibitory Monsters were just...people. There was nothing magical about them. There was no pact with a devil, no supernatural powers. They were you and me, with a deep, dark, horrible twist.<br />
<br />
It worked for a while. I remember being nearly paralyzed with fear every time I saw a man with a moustache and mirrored sunglasses (somehow, that got equated in my mind to KIDNAPPERS). But I remember, too, the whispered, secretive warnings on the playground about witches in the woods, and fairies in the flowers. Without any adult ever telling me, without even my beloved Brothers Grimm, I knew about the things that apparently, adults did not. I knew about trolls that turned to stone during the day, about vampires at night. Werewolves, leprechauns, djinn...I knew and believed in them too. <br />
<br />
That tells me that somewhere close by, someone's mother or more likely than not, grandmother, was keeping the Lore alive and passing on their own prohibitory warnings about what will eat naughty young children alive if they didn't go straight to bed and, like a corporate safety brief, that knowledge was passed along in the sandbox lest the other potentially (and often actually) naughty little children were innocently unaware.<br />
<br />
Now it's our turn. While the Mommy Blogs and parenting forums come alive at Christmas with <a href="http://www.city-data.com/forum/parenting/505609-lying-your-kids-about-santa-claus.html">debates</a> and <a href="http://www.momdot.com/do-your-kids-believe-in-santa-claus">posts</a> about the veracity of "lying" to children about Santa Claus, and this inevitably leads to discussion about the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, and all of the other tales we have no compunction about feeding our little ones - do we maintain our children in, as Pratchett (sarcastically) calls it, "A state of wholesome terror"? And why not? Or has our idea of what a monster really is (the paedophile lurking in the bushes - a good myth if ever there was one as we know that the majority of childhood sexual abuse is doled out by trusted and known adults, monsters to be sure) changed so dramatically that we no longer see a need for prohibitory monsters, frighteners, of not long ago?<br />
<br />
It's one of those things I find interesting - and I wonder how we'll handle it in the end. Whatever monsters are to A right now (and we aren't clear on this yet ourselves), I'd prefer she continue to think of them as mostly friends...but I don't want her to live in total fear, as I and a few of my friends did, of not just the witches under the bed but also the neighbor two houses down, or the poor bastard who really does just need directions 'round the block. On the other hand, simple reasoning like, "because you'll drown" ends up not being so simple sometimes, especially in the Age of Magic (e.g. toddlerhood) and I wonder if precautionary messages do require a little bit of the ol' Baba Yaga magic in them to hammer the point home.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>And you? What creatures did you grow up with? Trolls or ordinary men and women? How do you reason with your small children now?</em></strong>Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-14457129395760085502010-05-14T14:34:00.001-04:002010-09-12T11:43:32.379-04:00As Green as it Gets...For Us<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/p/pe/penelope12/1189785_world.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/p/pe/penelope12/1189785_world.jpg" width="200" wt="true" /></a></div>I've been thinking a lot lately about what I'm calling the Yuppie Greenification of MA Movement. It seems that every time I turn around, another <a href="http://www.thebostonchannel.com/news/23320994/detail.html">law</a> or <a href="http://www.mass.gov/Eoeea/docs/doer/renewables/ltc_renewable_emergency_reg.pdf">regulation</a> has been passed to make the state a greener place. On the one hand, I see nothing wrong with making the world a better place. On the other, I have to wonder why, now that it's such a popular thing to do, the cost of going green has gone so...well...high.<br />
<br />
I also wonder how, if <a href="http://wickedlocalparents.com/content/callthemgenerationgreenhowchildrenaretakingcareearth">environmental education</a> is the latest trend in elemetary cirriculums, I will explain to my sweet little cherub (snerk) exactly <em>why</em> Mommy and Daddy are limited in their ability to jump on board this bandwagon. <br />
<br />
In terms of Green Points, I present the following:<br />
<ul><li>We only have one car. It's a 2003 Impala, but it's one car. For the family. Now, with M back to work, we all commute together. He drives to his workplace (about 10 minutes from mine), and then I take the helm and drive to A's play-skool and my office. We reverse the trend going home. We don't drive when we can take the T though.</li>
<li>We recycle. Two bins a week.</li>
<li>I use one green cleaning product for light cleaning only. The others I've tried were ridiculously expensive and performed worse than soap and hot water, so there's still plenty of chemicals in the house - which means I don't think I can claim a full point here.</li>
<li>I use a re-usable water bottle for tap water and coffee mug instead of buying them individually. </li>
<li>When we buy seasonal fruits and vegetables from our commissary, we automatically get the local deal. Same with milk and eggs. They're not, however, certified organic or free-range. That might equal out to zero points.</li>
</ul>OK. So, we're off to a, well, a start. But here's where I get annoyed and wish that the fashionistas would find something else to ruin so that prices come back down.<br />
<br />
I recently did a cost analysis on the value of getting rid of the Impala in favor <br />
<a name='more'></a>of a <a href="http://www.mass.gov/Eoeea/docs/doer/renewables/ltc_renewable_emergency_reg.pdf">Prius</a> (not that I would drive a Prius, but I wanted to see nevertheless). Here's how it broke down:<br />
The Prius would get 288 miles per tank during the cooler months and, after it warms up, <a href="http://www.hybridcars.com/forums/2008-prius-fuel-tank-capacity.html">according to owners</a>, then possibly 571 using <a href="http://www.automotive.com/2010/43/toyota/prius/reviews/summary-specs/index.html">manufacture specs</a>. And yes, I realize that supposedly the fuel bladder in the 2010 model has been re-designed to reduce shrinkage in cold weather. Nevertheless, I currently get 350 miles per tank no matter what the weather.<br />
<br />
At 2.79 a gallon where we fill up, figuring the bladder fix would give me the EPA rated (individual results will vary), 11.9 gallons per tank, it would cost 33.20 per fill - and I'd have to fill, based on a 48 mpg rating, about every week and 3 days. At 33.20 for 8 days vs. 30.00 for 5, that's 6 dollars a day in fuel vs. 4. Hm. Not a wicked sizable sum.<br />
<br />
The Impala is also almost paid off and only costs 90 a month to insure. The Prius would be an almost 300.00 monthly payment at the starting price I saw of 31K. And over a hundred dollars to insure. <br />
<br />
Not getting a hybrid. Sorry.<br />
<br />
Next, I looked at <a href="http://www.johndewarinc.com/">artisan meats</a>, free-range meat and eggs, and real, honest-to-God fresh, homemade bread from a bakery. Oh. And organically grown fruits and vegetables. All of these combined would quadruple my grocery bill. I wish I could afford free-range because it IS better for you, and tastes better too. But right now, even though conceptually, the cost of production should be lower and that should be passed along, it's still a niche market and those occupying the niche have either way more disposable income than I do or don't care and will go without, say, a car, to purchase.<br />
<br />
Organic vegetables? Forget it. At 3 times the price with zero additional nutritional value to their mass farmed counterparts, I will settle for a good washing of the item in question. <br />
<br />
Finally, sustainable or environmentally friendly home products. I have three <a href="http://ezinearticles.com/?Bamboo---Sustainable-Pulp,-Fiber,-Paper-and-Construction-Materials-Source&id=1441968">bamboo</a> cutting boards. They were a splurge and as I was going home with them, I thought, <em>waitaminnit</em>. Bamboo is a pest plant. It's like Kudzu. It'll just grow out of control if you don't manage it very, very carefully. It's also a "green" product, unlike hardwood, for that very reason. So why the HELL is it so much more expensive than wood or plastic? Same for hemp fibers, natural ticking, yarns, dyes and all the rest.<br />
<br />
No, the state is free to educate my child on the benefits of environmental sustainment and being green, but when it comes time for her to ask me why our home isn't "more green", I'm going to assign her a research project to answer that question. It will be, "Find Out Why are Green and Environmentally Conscious Materials and Products So Much More Expensive and Cost Prohibitive to the Average Family".<br />
<br />
We don't own our home, we don't have a yard as such. Many of the homemade options are not available to us for those reasons and, even if they were, converting our 90 year old place into something a little more green would be low on the list for Reasons to Take Out a Second Mortgage.<br />
<br />
<strong><em>How about you? How are you green and in what areas are you not and why?</em></strong>Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-19412253129749593772010-05-11T20:49:00.002-04:002010-09-12T11:46:18.260-04:00No Other Mother's Day Gift Like It<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvFWKqSOyr_LP0lCTb76oUtnaPmFTb0XgsVnfDClXnBvVomLU7FumDltZpF5fO98YrBTuqcMhA9spL1uKJxksHtG9MbZx7QceIykiwe67WJ4Trjmo6E-lumsxBSjoqhjdXMHGO9YDaSzkJ/s1600/698517_dancing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvFWKqSOyr_LP0lCTb76oUtnaPmFTb0XgsVnfDClXnBvVomLU7FumDltZpF5fO98YrBTuqcMhA9spL1uKJxksHtG9MbZx7QceIykiwe67WJ4Trjmo6E-lumsxBSjoqhjdXMHGO9YDaSzkJ/s200/698517_dancing.jpg" tt="true" width="200" /></a></div>On Friday when I picked A up from play-skool, there was a "gift" on top of her cubby. The kids had planted bean seeds and their teachers had stapled their picture to a popsicle stick, which was then stuck into the soil. It was accompanied by a rather silly ode to mothers, signed with the individual child's handprint in paint.<br />
<br />
<br />
I remembered making these things when I was little and mocking them when I was large. I never imagined that I would ever be the intended recipient of the same someday, nor had I dreamed that my heart would actually melt when I received it.<br />
<br />
Truly though, my real gift from her has been the change to revel in her recent explosion of language and imagination that's happened in the course of the last couple of months.<br />
<br />
Her teachers tell me that she excels in both emergent writing and dramatic play (for daycare, this is really more like pre-school given the concepts they're being taught). We see it every day. She's often offered imaginary popcorn by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Woozle">Woozles</a> (see <a href="http://www.just-pooh.com/history.html"><em>Winnie the Pooh</em></a> if you're unfamiliar) that seem to follow wherever she's got a craving for popcorn (which she's only ever had once, ages ago). Friday, on the way home, she was being offered imaginary lollipops by the mermaid sitting next to her in the back seat. Last night, she raided a store under the sea on an impromptu oceanic adventure in the bathtub. Naturally, mermaids helped.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://momonreserve.blogspot.com/2010/03/trouble-with-monsters.html">She sees monsters</a> in dark parking garages and the woods as we drive by. Some are good, some are bad. The ones currently under bed are her friends. Same for the ones residing in the closet.<br />
<br />
I knew life was going to get interesting a few months ago when I had cleaned out her playroom closet and left a shallow, dish shaped basket on the floor while I contemplated it's fate. I walked in one night to check on her and she was sitting in it. She looked up at me and said, "My nest!" Under her bum were 3 bug-mobiles that were vaguely egg shaped. She was "hatching them" and then placing them reverently in a box.<br />
<br />
I hadn't realized then how interesting, and funny, it was really going to become. <br />
<br />
What better Mother's Day gift than a happy, healthy, giggling, playful, imaginative daughter could there be?Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5317019988667819698.post-31382137597179840902010-05-07T20:39:00.001-04:002010-09-12T11:46:55.358-04:00A New Way to Feel Bad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-fS2J23Vi64lq9QfACDIWEFIKCoIvdUuyt6wS6c7LwbzE1Qpa5vgtqCcNUvgAcLNH4wtw0e0z_EHZpsmqSL_KyygfD9N_A89p1il39rQDJTkpjq2g0R6w7EFm8SSHhZLW8NtK0qvppys4/s1600/1215170_machine_gun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-fS2J23Vi64lq9QfACDIWEFIKCoIvdUuyt6wS6c7LwbzE1Qpa5vgtqCcNUvgAcLNH4wtw0e0z_EHZpsmqSL_KyygfD9N_A89p1il39rQDJTkpjq2g0R6w7EFm8SSHhZLW8NtK0qvppys4/s200/1215170_machine_gun.jpg" tt="true" width="200" /></a></div>It's no secret that most <a href="http://www.familyresource.com/lifestyles/career-minded/working-mom-guilt">working mothers feel some form of guilt</a> over...well...the fact that they work. Of course, <a href="http://www.momlogic.com/2010/04/why_do_i_apologize_for_being_a_stay-at-home_mom.php">so do stay-at-home moms</a>. Some speculate that, as mothers, we're pre-programmed to beat the hell out of ourselves for failing somehow (usually in our own minds).<br />
<br />
I've been a little smug on this topic. I never felt it. Nope. Not a lick. Our family is the way it is, I do what I do, it's different from you, you're different from me which, by the way, is the stuff life's made of...soooo...<br />
<br />
I pressed on.<br />
<br />
Until now. Right now, I'm not sure if I actually feel guilty for wanting what I want or guilty for not actually feeling guilty, but there's certainly some element of "Bad Mommy!" playing out in my head. Why? Well...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Most of my readers probably know that I went away with my reserve unit for a week for some field training. Mind you, I hadn't been in the field since A was born, and I had a good hiatus even before that, so it wasn't something I was really looking forward to. In the least. <br />
<br />
Until we did an irregular offload out the back of a C-130 as we approached our field training site in the mid-west. Our boots hit the ground running and then, everything faded away in my mind and I was back in my game.<br />
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For me, the field experience (whether training or deployed - and it's usually worse in training) is a love-hate relationship. With each day that passes, I count it off and look forward to home. And I can assure you that one day in the field is a week in real-world time. But when I get home, I'm on a rush that can't be achieved by any other means than the high-stress pace of wargames and war. It's a bizarre thing because both have a lot of down time in which minutes tick by like days, but it's nearly impossible to explain.<br />
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The <em>really</em> strange thing is that, as I get older, it's harder for me to come back from the field once I'm home. I want to move, I want to work harder and player harder still. I swear more. I smoke more. Of course, life catches me back up and these things fade with time...eventually.<br />
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So why the guilt? Because I want to be back there. I want to be deployed again. I want M with me (he was my first Battle Buddy in the Army - I consider him to be my eventual signing bonus). I can't though. I can't go and miss these years with A and because of that, a part me is suddenly sad. <br />
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I haven't yet figured it out myself. I just know that after days of not eating right (DFAC food = no), not sleeping right and carrying over 100 pounds of gear wherever I went, I came back alive and refreshed and restored with a sense of confidence I haven't felt in ages. It's the feeling that I can do and have anything I want because I proved it to myself again.<br />
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But I can't have that every day and still be present as a mother. So, sacrifices are made. Of course, if I'm involuntarily sent somewhere, well, off I go. For now though, I can't volunteer which I surely would have if my family dynamic was different.<br />
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For most of my life, I did things on my own terms, come hell or high water. Suddenly, I'm doing things on the terms of a child who was thanking an imaginary mermaid for the imaginary lollipops she was imaginarily (not a word, I know) getting on the ride home today. I'm pretty much OK with that. <br />
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So yeah. It's gotta be guilt for allowing that small part of me that longs for the field to exist when I have so much more to long for and love here. Nevertheless, I'm going to let that part of me live. The adrenaline rush is worth sharing space with it.Phehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10504878141299890548noreply@blogger.com1