girl at large

Always Believe The Kids

I just found out that what the kids call “Night Cat”, the creature I assumed was an imaginary figure of bedtime story imaginations and toddler conversations, is in fact, real. And now I have to move.

No Mama

”Whatcha doing?”

”Just hanging out.”

”No Mama! We are hanging IN. We are IN the house”.

 

Also I Have Toast In My Pocket Right Now

A millennial recently asked me what it’s like to have kids and be married. In summary: 

”Hey, look how cute these undies I got at Costco are!”

No One Right Way To Do It

I’m stuck. I’m mentally obsessing with work things I can’t control, that don’t really matter in the big picture, and in general my big picture is currently very hard to see. Now that the house is (mostly) done and the local election is over, I don’t have anything new to put my rushing brain to. I’m feeling a bit like a gerbil on a wheel. Lots of energy, no direction.

This isn’t unusual for me, it comes with the spring daylight (SAD likes to fuck with you coming and going). It too shall pass.

In the meantime, maybe I can try my kids approach to living in the moment and going with the flow.

On the other hand, maybe I should just teach them how to use a damn slide. 

Yellow Flag

The ruckus was terrible. Stomping feet up the stairs, the sound of the high pressure shower setting splashing water everywhere, the unmistakable whine of a resisting toddler.

What on earth is going on?

After some intervention, my best soothing voice and a little triage—it was poop. 

“Honey, poop is not an emergency”.

”It is when it happens during qualifying!!”

Point taken.

Totally Under Control

We’re on hour two of Easter basket amusement. Who says kids don’t like post it notes and twist ties? Also, Paulie is barfing downstairs. In the bathroom that has plastic garbage bags taped up on the walls where we ripped out the shower tile.  {Sips coffee}

You Are A Beautiful Thing

Sunday is baking day at home.

”I like cookies when they are warm because they are soft. Soft cookies are better for sneaking up on people, because you can still have a snack while you are doing your sneaking, but because they aren’t crunchy, they can’t hear you.”

Worth It

     We are moved back in to the house, the temporary apartment has been emptied and cleaned. I still have boxes and boxes to go through in the basement, as well as furniture to move upstairs and art to rehang. Paulie is chipping away at painting ceilings, touching up walls, reinstalling blinds and installing light fixtures. But overall, it’s done. The kitchen, done. The mud room, done. The back family room, done. The floors, done. The Book Shower, done. 

    When I captured this moment, I thought, “Worth every penny”. And then I noticed it was Captain Underpants, and I thought, well, can’t win em all.

 

And Then Everybody Clapped

Some moments with toddlers are unforgettable, some are unbelievable, and some are one hundred percent the legacy of Pat Mikkelsen’s child rearing.

Me: “Oh Charlie, you are so fucking beautiful!”

Charlie: “Mama, you’re fucking beautiful every day!”

This Is Why We’re Married and I Love You

I’m standing in a contraption that stretches my calf and foot to relieve the pain of my plantar fasciitis, stretching my arms up along the wall, wishing for help to pull the ache out.

Me: ”Remember when they used to put people on the rack? Wouldn’t that feel good now?”

Paulie: “And throw a little heat underneath it” 

The Bright Side

Just when I feel overwhelmed by risk and debt and responsibilities, a little voice reminds me of how good we’ve got it.

Me, scooping up apple cores, baby wipes and Culver's bags: “Man, this car is a mess”.

Viv: ”At least it doesn't smell like old cheese anymore”.

Making The Best of It

In an effort to make a temporary, rather bleak one bedroom apartment more tolerable for the family, especially over the holiday, I’ve been thinking we will have some fun and try to make it a little adventure. 

 

Mama: ”Honey, let’s make the little apartment fun, we can decorate it anyway we want. How about a theme from one of your books?”

 

Viv: “Can it be Oliver Twist?

 

Baseline Overwhelmed

I have a sheet of stickers. Charlie comes over, asks for a sticker, gets a sticker and waddles in to the next room. In that room, he folds the sticker. A minute later, he is back, waving his hand around with the half folded sticker stuck to it and proclaiming that the sticker is broken. He asks for another sticker; I oblige.

We have passed an hour this way. And it is just about the right speed of activity and responsibility I can handle right now. The house construction starts on Tuesday. I am not ready. My brain is broken. Can I have another?

Little Monsters

Viv: “Are you going to do my scary face?”

 

Mama: “Yes, I’ll do it.”

 

“Are you sure you can?”

 

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I can make you look like Frankenstein.”

 

“Hmm, well, I recommend watching some youtube videos first.”

 

I’ve literally created a monster.

 

#imnotworthy

Tonight is Charliepant’s first night in his big kid bed. While I was doing laundry or Facebooking or reading or something, Paulie made him his very own cardboard version of Bert & Ernie’s headboards.

Because, as Charlie says: ERNIEBERT! ERNIEBERT! ERNIEBERT!

(Also, as I write this, Viv is sitting next to his new bed reading him a night night story because she “likes spending time with him”). 

What They See

It’s been an exhausting few weeks.

My community is in an uproar over the highschool production of To Kill A Mockingbird, which exposed the school’s ugly power dynamic, ineffective school board governance, and of course, very loud obnoxious white lady style racism.

We spent a week vacationing with family up north, with all the emotional weight, good and bad, that entails. Note: vacationing with a six year old and a two year old is not vacationing; it’s a trip away, yes, but not a vacation.The school district’s survey to gain support for a $55m to $120m referendum came out (I’m part of a small group trying to get the financial facts and consequences out to the public). I somehow got myself on the Beautification committee of the PTO. There are fliers to hand out, doors to knock on and troops to rally. And parent teacher conferences were on Thursday.

Oh, and while we’re were at it we refinanced the house, with all the paperwork and worry that involves. On Wednesday, after five years of doing everything else ourselves in this fixer upper, we finally signed the construction contract for the complete gutting renovation of the kitchen and first floor. Good grief. Also, I guess I really live here now.

I’ve spent a lot of time these past two weeks thinking about what I want my kids to be exposed to, what kind of community I want them to grow up in, how my values aren’t always reflected in this village.

I’ve also been caught out a few times on my own internal village, how we don’t always live our values right here in this house. Teacher conferences gave me a glimpse of Viv’s world (all week she’s been telling her class stories of the wonderful time she had at the cottage!). I’m freshly aware of how we talk to each other as Charlie explores the boundaries of being a bossy two year old, tests out “No!”, and imitiates Mama and Papa with his dollies. I’m not always proud of what is reflected. 

But, I learn. And I grow. And when ashamed, I try really hard to step forward with new approaches instead of retreating into old habits.

In the end, when they are grown and reflect on their upbringing, I hope their view of their family is like Viv’s clandestine photo portrait of us. There we are, tired and resigned. But together, and with faint smiles on our faces. At the table with each other and not too much yelling.

We Met for the First Time Six Years Ago Today

You are six years old today, and right now you are a humid little lump sleeping next to me in Mama’s bed. “Mama Time” you call it. 

It’s been six years, but I still don’t know exactly what I’m doing. Each time I get confident, each time I get the routine down, you go and change on me. In the proverbial leaps and bounds you make your way through stages of childhood, often leaving me behind in the cliche dust. 

But I do know these things:

Your first best friend was named Julian and you greeted each other with a hug every day and cried when you had to part.

You say Gwanma. And Nonna. And have never confused the two.

You want to be a monkey when you grow up. And also a teacher. And a race car driver.

You are 100% right when you say pants with pockets only in the back are stupid.

Charlie will never have a better guide than you.

You own your Papa’s heart, and almost more importantly, his growth from a pretty darn good person to an amazing person.

You bite your nails, out of nervousness, and I worry about that. But you also are trying to quit, of your own choice, and quitting a habit is the hardest thing a human brain can do. So if you can’t, I got you. That goes for every thing. Every single thing.

 

Makes Perfect Sense

“I want a baby but I don’t want to make one so I will go out and buy one because I’ll be be rich because I’ll work at night too. I don’t want to make a baby because I don’t want to feel the pain when it comes out or when the baby kicks me. And I know it’s not really buying, there’s an orphanage or something like Oliver. Does it have to be a newborn?”

Goals

“I want to be Frankenstein for Halloween. Or maybe the Hulk. Can I get the jacket with the edges? I’d wear it with no shirt. Or if I’m the Hulk I only need short pants with the edges.”

“So, basically you want to be green in torn clothing.”

“Actually, I want to be green, and strong, and mostly naked”.

Actually.

 

Uh oh, I’ve Got Another One

Two-year old Charlie is talking, waddling, and goofing his way through toddlerhood.

“I love you Charlie”

“I love you too, Mama”

“Charlie, where does love come from?” (This is reference to a favorite bedtime book, I expected a hand gesture over his heart).

“Right here, from my butt”. (as he pat pats on the front of his diaper)

 

Peanut Butter and Jelly

Viv and Charlie are becoming a unit. Now that Charlie is two and finally walking as much as he is talking, they are interacting more than ever before. Viv has always enjoyed being a big sister to babies both real and imagined, but now she also has a playmate. A cohort. A co-conspirator. And another analytical mind to meld with.

Mama: “You are so cute Charlie.”

“No, I’m not cute, I’m Charlie”.

Mama: “What’s that (stuffed) puppy’s name?”

“Puppy”.

Mama: “Oh, and what about that puppy, what’s its name?”

“Other Puppy”

 

Fuck Whales, Save Context

This topic of this article is really important. I’m only beginning to understand.

https://www.vox.com/2018/8/3/17644704/sarah-jeong-new-york-times-tweets-backlash-racism

Fuck whales, save context. This article and others I’ve read related to the story (with a variety of views) of Sarah Jeong and others makes me hope that I learn fast enough how to educate my kids on context, internet literacy, consent, research, and critical thinking. Also, art critique skills could be useful, it’s the same questions: Who is the audience? What is the intent? How successfully was it executed? How else could it be interpreted? 

The internet is scary. It’s also amazing. It’s all the things, and it’s embedded in my life.

I’ve been blogging since 2002 and posting photos of my babies and life on Facebook since 2009. Two things have given me pause lately. One, I sent a link of an old 2012 blog post to a friend and I noticed that in the post before it I had used the word “ghetto” in the title. That made me cringe. I was tempted even to change or delete it. But I didn’t; a reminder that language and understanding changes, that I learn and grow is a good thing.

Second, I was recently enjoying a fluff story trail of “Where Are They Now?” about memes and I noticed a majority of the images were of young people or children who are now—zip—adults. First, wow that was fast, kids grow up in seconds. And second, crap, what would Viv think at age 13 of some of the photos and captions out there of her at age three? Do I have a right to do that? Does she have a right to privacy before junior high?

Oh god, she’s going to have to go to junior high. Delete delete delete

Roll With It

We ran out of toilet paper. Like out out. No Kleenex, nothing hidden in the back of the cupboard, even a search of Paulie's car for the emergency travel roll came up empty. Paulie stashed a few paper towels nearby and we got on with our morning mayhem routine, noting “tp” on the never ending to-do list. 

A few minutes later, I noticed this. Viv had rolled the paper towels around the holder. Folded in half, then rolled. Thank you, Viv, for the civility.

Cleverer and Cleverer

Settling in to our room: "The hotel TV might not cooperate, and your iPad is fragile, so I'll watch cartoons on your phone."

Cooperate.

 

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And That's How

As Charlie says, suited up and strapped in, let's "rocknroll!"

Paulie likes to have all the things, ALL the things for any activity. Going for a walk might turn into a picnic so of course an umbrella and a bag of sandwhiches is standard. Going anywhere at all, indoors or out, requires a huge fleece blanket because you never know when you're going to get cold, sleepy or just need comfort.

A weekend away with the kids requires an enormous amount of stuff, which we bring in the larger car we bought for the purpose of bringing stuff, and yet here we are Sunday morning with Charlie in the last diaper. Which is a swim diaper. From last year. Paulie, where is your duct tape?

Vivi is taller this spring, and as always, a helper. I assigned her to do "the sweep" this morning as we packed up. "Did you check every closet, room and drawer?" "Yes". "Did you get everything, nothing left behind?"

"Yep, all I found was that book" (and now somewhere in my car of stuff is Gideon's bible)

 

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Parenting Peak

It's been a spring of late snowstorms and lingering cold. Only this morning, already the first of May, does the air finally feel promising. And yet there are still patches of snow in our concrete yard. And also a large patch of standing water that Viv says looks like a dinosaur. (The mudjacking company says it looks like about a grand)

Recently one day at school, a classmate's parent forgot to bring snowpants.

Vivi said to her: "Isn't it your job to pack your own snow pants?"

My work here is done, peace out. -Mama.

 

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Snootypants vs Smartypants

Grandma: "Corndog? No, I've never had a corndog. That's "Fair" food, I don't go to the Fair".

Viv: "Do you like hot dogs?"

Grandma: "Yes."

"Do you like bread?"

Yes.

"Do you like corn?"

Yes.

"Hmm. I think you like corn dogs."

 

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Girl Out in the World

It's remarkable how a little thing can put someone at ease. Everywhere we travel Viv is assumed to be a boy, except by priests, nurses, and teachers who (almost to a person) default to "they" or some other gender neutral substitute like the ubiquitous "buddy" without missing a beat. (Is it years of practice? Working with the public? Being wrong too many times in the past?) Its a small thing, but what a difference--to engage with kids and be in tune with their kidness, not their this or thatness. When did we get so boxed in?

Viv doesn't care one way or another, but it bothers me that girlness is presumed to come in only one pink-wrapped, long haired package. (Of course, I'm conflicted. Why does it bother me when she's misgendered? I'll have to dive into that sticky emotion at a later date). Viv has opinions, preferences, and even at this young age, a "style". And by style I mean she wears and does and plays what and how she enjoys. Or as she says: "Why do boys get all the comfy pants?"

 

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Retro Christmas

“I want a pogo stick and a scooter and a black and red watch” -Viv to Santa

Fall Back

Viv was born five years ago, or just yesterday, depending on how much sleep you've gotten. My emotions have been heavy these past weeks, heavier each passing week as the daylight dwindles. Fall does a number on my body clock, disrupting my sleep, which then in turn chips away at my emotional fortitude. In a typical year this is a speed bump, easily countered with walks and a sun lamp. This year, I am crushed.

Viv's birthday party was so important to me; not just because we only do "big celebrations" on the 5's and 0's, but because this has just been such a crap year. A big failure at work kept me away from the kids both physically and emotionally for six months of the past year; the regret is hitting hard now. At the time, I was just heads down to power through it. Now that it's over, I look back and am newly overwhelmed with regret for agreeing to something that in my gut I knew was wrong for me. But the fear of losing my work, losing clients, losing status during such a vulnerable time overpowered me. (Anyone who experienced the financial disaster, got laid off, foreclosed, or has been on maternity leave knows this fear well). We have a long way to go in understanding how to support parents returning to work in our culture, including inside our own heads.

I think maybe, it could be possible, there's a chance...I was trying to make up for a perceived lack of attention with a big to-do for her 5th birthday. I spent a lot of time arranging and fussing and worrying about it being good enough. As luck would have it, she had an amazing time putting on each and every pair of the ten pack of Sesame Street socks that her Aunt Peg gave her. Because she's five. And it's her birthday, and why not?

As I work to build my own family, I am navigating emotions that are really the lingering shadows of emotions I had years ago. When Viv started kindergarten, I was completely blindsided; just being in a school building (and interacting with administrators) brought a wave of unexpected negative feelings. Everyone claims to have had a hard time in school, do we really have to experience it twice?

And that's just my own, small internal world; let's dive into the emotional exhaustion that is the rest of the world and all it's suffering. I am struggling to fully live the lovely moments that are my happy family life, the completely normal, mundane interactions with coworkers and customers and shop keepers and neighbors that keep happening despite the staccato reports of disaster, chaos, injury, violence, terror, and death of innocents.

How can I enjoy the innocence of these soft and curious creatures in my house without the intrusive thoughts of the random misery inflicted on others? Others so like me. And us. And this house of coffee and cartoons on Sunday morning.

Forgive me for crying. Where the fuck is the sun?

 

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Location, Location, Location

Viv: "When I grow up I want to marry Miss Tia"

Mama: "Where will you live when you and Miss Tia are married?"

Viv: "Why not right here, this house is great!"

Mama: "This is mama and papa's house, you can't live here once you're grown up and married."

Viv: "What if you're already dead?"

 

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My Balance Is My Own Damned Business

 
                                                                                                                                                                                 

"By a show of hands, how many here this morning are married?" "Again by a show of hands, how many of you have kids?"

This is not a family event. This is not a parenting class. This is not a working parent support group. These are the OPENING LINES of a PROFESSIONAL WOMEN'S DEVELOPMENT event. Professional Development. As in business, the workplace, professions. As in growth, learning, development.

I should have had a clue from the start at my table. The ice breaker activity was answering the question "What is the best thing that happened to you this week?". I was running about five minutes behind the rest of the group (having stood outside the daycare at 6:55 am, dropped Viv off when they opened at 7 am, and then hauled across the county to attend the 7:45 am event), so as I sat down with coffee, I cheerfully shared my big win of the week. Up for a long-shot, very large-dollar project bid, a junior member of my sales team had just got word that we won the deal. When she called to tell me, I had to hold the phone away from my ear because she was yelling so loud with excitement. It was a big moment for the company, a big moment for the team, a huge moment for her. And I was thrilled to be her coach.

"So, that was a pretty rewarding win this week". Smile, head nod, next.

Gal next to me, at this moment a complete stranger: "But Kate, what was your personal win this week?"

"Um, actually, I've spent a lot of time coaching her so for me it was a personal win." Roll eyes, turn to hear the introduction of the keynote speaker. I thought, well, that was awkward, but let's see what the keynote has to offer.

It did not get better.

Line three of her presentation was "You can have it all". Um, we are all working women, and now we know which of us has kids. It's 7:55 am. We are all here. At a work event. Please, tell us something we don't know. It would factually appear that we do know how to "have it all". What even is that? That is not a thing.

When do male-dominated or mixed-gender BUSINESS EVENTS ask such questions? They don't. Don't get me started on the rambling, self-obsessed drivel that was a presentation on how she got to where she is, which is the Bench. Ok, I'll start, here's a sampling:

" A lot of women have to work these days, I mean houses are expensive. Everything is expensive". "My brother's wife raised her kids to be stay at home moms, they got pregnant young, out of wedlock, then got married and then got divorced. One got remarried, and he's very supportive and now shes back in school but shes so far behind. I mean, education is so important". "All my kids are going to college, they are going to college no matter what. Don't get me wrong, for some kids it's trade school. And that's fine. College can mean so many things. But my kids are all going to college. And I can't say enough good things about Google Calendar, it's a must."

PROFESSIONAL WOMEN'S DEVELOPMENT.

Things I Learned In Kindergarten. Or, Why Working Parents Lose Their Shit.

 

Registering Viv for kindergarten was frustrating. I first signed her up back in June, at the appointed time, bringing a file with our residency documents her vaccination records, birth certificate and her actual self. Then, in July, there were forms to complete online and a requirement to upload the same documents. Mind you, that same information also had to be submitted (in a different format) to the wrap-around daycare that maintains a completely separate, though just as convoluted, registration system. Actual kindergarten is only three hours, before and after she's in a partner daycare program. In the same building, in the room next door, but everything has to be done over again and maintained in a separate online portal. And don't get me started on the auto pay that took payment for every single no-school day extra charge for the entire year all at once. With no notice.

In August, school fees were announced, but that portal didn't allow payment until after a certain date two weeks later. Then, I got notice that even if paid online, I still had attend something called Forms and Fees Day at the high school. At that appointed date and time, during the working day, I had to bring an additional two documents for proof of residency. It was at Forms and Fees Day, in my car afterwards, that I had a complete and tearful steering wheel break down.

Little did I know that that was not the last hurdle.

I received a message that the wrap-around daycare was having an open house the week before the start of school. Still trying to figure out if lunch was or was not served to the kids from the public school lunch system, I figured that was a good event to attend. I had a lot of questions still unanswered. (The school portal let me make a lunch program payment, but said no where if it applied to morning K4 classes, the daycare site said nothing at all about meals). We scrambled home from work, shoved a bottle in Charlie's face and walked over to the school for the daycare open house. Which turned out to also be a kindergarten open house/parent orientation. I was hoping to pop in and out, but instead got seated and then realized I was in for a lengthy presentation, without my phone to alert Paulie waiting outside with a fussy baby. I had missed one critically informative line in an otherwise obtuse letter in the packet received on Forms and Fees Day.

If you're still following this, no, they do not participate in the school lunch program, we have to pack a lunch. I'm still waiting for my refund.

Taking Viv to her first day of "school" was not tearful; I didn't "have a hard time" (but thanks again for asking everyone, and asking again just to give me another chance to prove I do have a heart). She's been going to daycare, which we call school, since she was six weeks old. She's had to change centers twice, each time was a bumpy few first days learning a new routine, but other than that, zero on the life altering events scale. Like previously, she had a pretty good first day.

The rest of us are hoping the school district administration takes a Lean course.

 

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