While channel surfing last night, we stumbled across a show called "Kids By the Dozen." Featured last night was a ridiculously wholesome family from Minnesota with SIXTEEN kids, ranging from about 27 to about 4. The kids were polite, well-behaved, helpful. There was no yelling (by the parents, that is). Quotes included one from an 18ish boy, "The thing I miss most about being away from home is playing with my younger brothers and sisters." Oh, and of course, they homeschool them, too.
Wow. We were feeling pretty down on our parenting skills, since managing TWO does not come easily on many days. Why are we such slackers, complaining about how busy we are, yelling at the kids, etc.? Man, we stink!
The show ended and, egos in the toilet, we resumed surfing. And there, just in the nick of time, was SuperNanny featuring a totally out-of-control family with wild, disrespectful, obnoxious children -- who didn't get that way by themselves, thankyouverymuch. Suddenly, we felt like Parenting Hall of Famers, with polite, well-behaved, helpful children and (comparatively) no yelling.
Our confidence restored, we were able to go to bed secure in the knowledge that, on balance, we're doing a pretty damn fine job. Thanks, SuperNanny. Oh, and kudos to you huge, wholesome family. I sure couldn't do what you do.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
The Way Life Should Be
We are recently back from a 2 week vacation in my home state of Maine. It was simply glorious, the kind of time when family memories are made and one's spirit is renewed. We spent part of the visit staying with my mom, but the bulk of the time was spent at my family's tiny cottage on a lake near Acadia National Park.
The lake was unusually quiet this year -- fewer boaters, mercifully few jet-skis, and only a couple of float planes. We did our best to make up for it, with two loud, crazy kids living each day for all it was worth. Swimming, tooling around the lake in our transom canoe (with zippy 6 horsepower motor!), throwing rocks into the lake (with every splash, I heard my grandfather's voice, "Stop throwing those cussid rocks in the lake!).
Vacation was also a time to do some personal stretching. I have an aversion to failure and to making a fool of myself that has plagued me all my life. The result is that I am reluctant to try new things, particularly ones that I'm not likely to master instantaneously. I've visited this lake every summer of my life, but had never attempted to waterski. I've been the spotter, the on-shore cheerleader, the ski strapper-on-er, but never the one on skis. Too chicken, too afraid of failing and looking foolish.
Not this year. On New Years Eve, I resolved I would get up on skis in 2007. And I did! It took 3 days and more than a dozen attempts, but I earned the thrill of gliding over the glassy surface of the lake, hair flying, spray splashing. It was exhilarating, and I'm kicking myself for missing out on it for the past 3 decades. I also found that though my failures were spectacular, they were also really fun. Each attempt brought cheers and encouragement from my family. There was no mockery, no shame, no derision. It was a good reminder that life is not a spectator sport.
The lake was unusually quiet this year -- fewer boaters, mercifully few jet-skis, and only a couple of float planes. We did our best to make up for it, with two loud, crazy kids living each day for all it was worth. Swimming, tooling around the lake in our transom canoe (with zippy 6 horsepower motor!), throwing rocks into the lake (with every splash, I heard my grandfather's voice, "Stop throwing those cussid rocks in the lake!).
Vacation was also a time to do some personal stretching. I have an aversion to failure and to making a fool of myself that has plagued me all my life. The result is that I am reluctant to try new things, particularly ones that I'm not likely to master instantaneously. I've visited this lake every summer of my life, but had never attempted to waterski. I've been the spotter, the on-shore cheerleader, the ski strapper-on-er, but never the one on skis. Too chicken, too afraid of failing and looking foolish.
Not this year. On New Years Eve, I resolved I would get up on skis in 2007. And I did! It took 3 days and more than a dozen attempts, but I earned the thrill of gliding over the glassy surface of the lake, hair flying, spray splashing. It was exhilarating, and I'm kicking myself for missing out on it for the past 3 decades. I also found that though my failures were spectacular, they were also really fun. Each attempt brought cheers and encouragement from my family. There was no mockery, no shame, no derision. It was a good reminder that life is not a spectator sport.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
It's not the heat...
A brief note that I am simply NOT built to live in this climate. I went for a run this morning -- checked the temperature before I left, a nice cool 73. Yahoo. Then opened the door to discover 94% humidity. It was like running through jello. Only warm, and not so tasty. Ugh.
Hearing Voices
My daily life is a cacaphony of noise. There is a constant stream of dialogue from my kids, a never-ending soundtrack of noisy toys and noisy play. So is it any wonder that I'm having a bit of trouble singling out the sound of my own voice in the midst of all this?
Not my outer voice -- I hear plenty of that. But the inner one, the one that guides you. The one that tells you who the heck you are and how to make something meaningful out of your life. I've been trying hard lately to listen for it, but it's just not piping up the way I'd like. I keep hoping for that Aha! moment when clarity is achieved and the way is clear. Life doesn't much seem to be like that, though.
I read recently about "Silent Retreats" where you go somewhere, usually a monastery or similar, and experience total silence. The article recommended two weeks (!!) for maximum benefit. I almost wept at the thought of multiple hours, let alone days or weeks, with no talking. What an amazing respite that would be.
Then again, it's a little scary to ponder what one might actually come up with when left alone with only one's own thoughts for an extended period of time. I'm sure it's not all sunshine and roses, but I'd hope that you would walk out the other side with a better sense of self.
We're headed on vacation soon, and part of the time will be spent at a tiny little camp on a lake in Maine. I've been going there my entire life, and find an inordinate amount of peace in early mornings sitting on the dock, looking out at the glassy water. This year, I plan to use those silent times to do some internal listening. Maybe I'll find that little voice.
Not my outer voice -- I hear plenty of that. But the inner one, the one that guides you. The one that tells you who the heck you are and how to make something meaningful out of your life. I've been trying hard lately to listen for it, but it's just not piping up the way I'd like. I keep hoping for that Aha! moment when clarity is achieved and the way is clear. Life doesn't much seem to be like that, though.
I read recently about "Silent Retreats" where you go somewhere, usually a monastery or similar, and experience total silence. The article recommended two weeks (!!) for maximum benefit. I almost wept at the thought of multiple hours, let alone days or weeks, with no talking. What an amazing respite that would be.
Then again, it's a little scary to ponder what one might actually come up with when left alone with only one's own thoughts for an extended period of time. I'm sure it's not all sunshine and roses, but I'd hope that you would walk out the other side with a better sense of self.
We're headed on vacation soon, and part of the time will be spent at a tiny little camp on a lake in Maine. I've been going there my entire life, and find an inordinate amount of peace in early mornings sitting on the dock, looking out at the glassy water. This year, I plan to use those silent times to do some internal listening. Maybe I'll find that little voice.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Little Sponges
I am reminded daily of what little sponges children are.
My son walked up to my clock radio a few weeks ago and said, "Cheeseburger, please. Thank you!"
Oh my. It had been a bit of a rough patch, and more meals than I care to admit were acquired via drive-thru windows. Who knew he was paying attention?
He got a good reaction, and continues to perform the trick from time to time. In fact, he's expanded his order. Apparently he has recognized my addiction to the flavored iced coffee at McDonalds, and yesterday expanded his order to, " Cheeseburger please. And Mommy coffees." Good to know that if I pass out while at the drive thru, he can carry on the ordering without me!
My son walked up to my clock radio a few weeks ago and said, "Cheeseburger, please. Thank you!"
Oh my. It had been a bit of a rough patch, and more meals than I care to admit were acquired via drive-thru windows. Who knew he was paying attention?
He got a good reaction, and continues to perform the trick from time to time. In fact, he's expanded his order. Apparently he has recognized my addiction to the flavored iced coffee at McDonalds, and yesterday expanded his order to, " Cheeseburger please. And Mommy coffees." Good to know that if I pass out while at the drive thru, he can carry on the ordering without me!
The Wall
There comes that moment in every day when it happens. I hit the wall and just cannot listen to one more whine, one more screech, one more anything. Fingernails on the chalkboard time.
I hit it late this afternoon at the playground about 5 blocks from our house. We had gone in the wagon because we were dropping dinner off at the house of a friend who recently had a baby on the way. The trip to the park worked like a charm, 'though pulling got decidedly more difficult when my daughter decided she needed to ride, too. It was definitely getting to be dinner time, I had no snacks, my son fell off the monkey bars (no serious injuries, thank God). Time to go. But son will not get in the wagon. In fact, he wants to PULL the wagon. By HIMSELF, thank you.
Fortunately, Daddy was able to come to the rescue in the family car. Dinner, 'though, was it's usual madness. I was now beyond the wall, and told my daughter that I'd had enough. She replied, seriously as can be, "But mommy, my rope hasn't reached its end yet." We cracked up, my sanity was somehow rescued, and the day ended on a happy note. I guess laughter really is the best medicine.
I hit it late this afternoon at the playground about 5 blocks from our house. We had gone in the wagon because we were dropping dinner off at the house of a friend who recently had a baby on the way. The trip to the park worked like a charm, 'though pulling got decidedly more difficult when my daughter decided she needed to ride, too. It was definitely getting to be dinner time, I had no snacks, my son fell off the monkey bars (no serious injuries, thank God). Time to go. But son will not get in the wagon. In fact, he wants to PULL the wagon. By HIMSELF, thank you.
Fortunately, Daddy was able to come to the rescue in the family car. Dinner, 'though, was it's usual madness. I was now beyond the wall, and told my daughter that I'd had enough. She replied, seriously as can be, "But mommy, my rope hasn't reached its end yet." We cracked up, my sanity was somehow rescued, and the day ended on a happy note. I guess laughter really is the best medicine.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
I've got a little change in my pocket...
I made the trek to Capitol Hill to close out my credit union account. It was wonderful and surreal in so many ways. I got stuck in major traffic on the way in, a reminder of the hellish commute I no longer face. I met a friend for coffee and ran into a couple of former colleagues -- who didn't seem surprised at all to hear me say that, no, I didn't miss Hill life. I saw the relatively newly installed "bureaus" by each bank of elevators that contain "escape hoods" -- a not-so-subtle reminder of 9/11 and all that has followed. Very "welcome to your democracy." And on the way home, I had to bob and weave my way around town to evade presidential motorcade road closures. Have I mentioned that I don't miss the Hill?
I accomplished my mission, and walked out with a good chunk of cash in my pocket. What was most fun was knowing that it was "my" money. Since quitting work, I have learned to think of my husband's income as "our" money, and honestly, that's how we both treat it. But there is something troubling about not having an income of one's own. I will never forget the day I received my first Social Security statement with $0 listed as my earnings for the year. It's not like I don't work hard every day, I just don't have an income.
But now I have this little bit of cash. And I want to spend it on anything and everything! We recently started giving our daughter an allowance, and each week it's divied up into $2 to spend; $2 to save and $1 for church. I know that's basically what I should do with this, but the Land's End catalog just arrived and I could use some new songs for my iPod and there's always the Dollar Spot at Target calling my name... Jing-a-ling-a-ling!
I accomplished my mission, and walked out with a good chunk of cash in my pocket. What was most fun was knowing that it was "my" money. Since quitting work, I have learned to think of my husband's income as "our" money, and honestly, that's how we both treat it. But there is something troubling about not having an income of one's own. I will never forget the day I received my first Social Security statement with $0 listed as my earnings for the year. It's not like I don't work hard every day, I just don't have an income.
But now I have this little bit of cash. And I want to spend it on anything and everything! We recently started giving our daughter an allowance, and each week it's divied up into $2 to spend; $2 to save and $1 for church. I know that's basically what I should do with this, but the Land's End catalog just arrived and I could use some new songs for my iPod and there's always the Dollar Spot at Target calling my name... Jing-a-ling-a-ling!
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