Lately I've been thinking about all of those times over the years when I've been told that these are the best years of your life! As far as I can remember, it started in high school, but when I heard it then I just wanted to puke. If those were my best years then life was some kind of cruel comedy-tradgedy in my book. I was shy, alone, and in my own head during most of high school. Were there good moments? Yeah, of course. They just generally happened far from those front doors. Then I heard it again during college. Of course during those years I was preocupied with getting transportation to be able to get around the small Texas towns I lived in, or writing papers, or dealing with boyfriend drama. But generally, I think I knew even then that those years were pretty special. I finally broke out of my shell, started my love of traveling, and just generally had a good time with some really good friends. College was good, but I wasn't satisfied. I was always looking ahead--where would I go next? What cool job would I get? Who would I marry and wouldn't it be awesome to finally live as a completely independent adult on my own?
I did graduate, travel, have an interesting job and go to grad school. And marry and start "adult life". The next time I heard that these are the best years of your life was after we had Angelica. Having young children at home was, in the opinion of those preaching, IT. (Ironically, those were also the people who didn't have young children at home anymore). One part of me screamed inwardly, "How can this be it? Do you have any idea of what I've given up for this? My life is a sacrifice for this little person, and every day from morning to night, she comes first. Not me. My dreams and plans are still there, but fuzzy and in the backlight of my daily reality. Do you understand that?"
And then I stumbled upon a blog last week based on an article from last summer out of New York Magazine, titled I love my children, I hate my life by Jennifer Senior. Tell that to the people preaching! I wouldn't go as far as to say I hate my life, but I have been tempted to hang poster-board sized "affirmations" in every room of my house and in my office at school with the message This Is Worth It on every one. Because day-to-day life is work. And I want to venture to say that it doesn't matter what balance of outside work, home life and children a mom carries--it is always a sacrifice and many days a struggle. And during those moments of frustration, our "best selves" get buried and we lose focus. The forest is lost for the trees (the kind that rise tall and don't leave room to see beyond them).
We (okay let me go back to the first person singular) I hash things out on my husband. I end it all with the statement "I feel like I'm always complaining". He replies: "You are always complaining" and quickly tries to turn it into a joke as my eyes widen and my jaw sets in them-are-fighting-words stance: "Well, I'm like your complaint department. That's what I'm here for". Really? Has it come to that? These are the best days of your life play again in my head and taunt me. I want to be better, do better at this. When did I turn my husband into my complaint department?
Deep down inside, I know that these really are the best days and I want to live them at my best. I think the best days are the ones you are totally present in, the ones you instinctively feel their precious value even when the trees are threatening to choke you all around. Angelica teaches me this over and over, day after day. When I am exhausted and cranky, distracted and dissatisfied, she pulls me back into the now. Sometimes she does it literally, pulling my face close to hers and staring intently with her big brown eyes into mine. She does it with an emotional intelligence that takes my breath away. One day recently after running some errands, I realized that we had left behind her favorite book and that I had no idea where it was. I was devestated because this was no ordinary book--she slept with it and took it everywhere with her. So I told her that mommy had made an oops, and I confessed, I shed a few tears (dang pregnancy hormones). She gave me that look of wisdom beyond her years and she asked "Mommy, are you sad?" As I blubbered and nodded, she calmly reached for a library book of the same series (which she had shown no previous interest in) and started leafing through it. She continued asking me if I was sad until I finally relented, realizing that she was teaching me something. She said "It's okay, Mommy" and never asked for the book after that (although I admit that I went and found a replacement the next week, as soon as I could, and it has returned to being one of her favorites again).
My two-year old felt empathy? I think she did. And that's just one example of why I live each day with its monotony of meal preparation or constant toy pick-up or running here-and-running there, and fitting work into it all with sparks of wonder. The sparks of wonder tell me that this really is IT. If I need to hang signs up all over my house and beyond as reminders when the trees get too tall, fine.
Isn't it an irony of life that the most difficult things are often what end up bringing the most joy? The sacrifices made, the plans deferred bring us to a new and more vibrant NOW that we never would have imagined of know had we stayed the course we once thought we had chosen. Well that's what has happened to me. I was the girl who said "Kids? Nah...not now..and not for a LONG time". I was never the one who dreamed of mommyhood as a young woman. Yet, here I am in the midst of balancing my life as mommy and wife and teacher and so on...and in spite of the madness of it all I find these brillant colors that only being a mommy can bring. And I want to hold on to these days because there are these moments that I never, ever want to forget. And to think, I could have missed out on all of this!
And of course, as we all know, these things that bring joy in spite of great sacrifice...well, they are never things.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
family
My husband is my family. My child is my family, and so is the one that's not been born. The one not even known yet, but for kicks and squirms that feel more like ping-pong balls rolling around in my belly. But so are my parents. His parents. Our grandparents, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, their spouses--they're family, too. We're supposed to be adults and not "need" our "extended" families. At least, somehow we get this idea from something ingrained in our society. Mexican society treats the idea of "extended" family more as how we would view the nuclear family, in many aspects. Kids move out of the house much older. Sick members or newlyweds can come and stay as long as they need to get their feet back on the ground. Family gatherings are long, frequent, expected.
My husband and daughter have been out of town for over a week...hubby went to visit his parents and relatives in Mexico and took Angelica along. I stayed behind really, isn't it every frazzled parent's dream? To have a few days awaaaay from the 24/7 chaos of family-with-a-small-child life?
Yes, it's been nice to have a "break", but I've spent most of my days outside of the house, since it's honestly a little too painful at times to have all of this silence wrapping around me in a place where Angelica's laughter bounces off the walls and the pitter-patter of her feet up and down the hall, along with shrieks of happiness normally abide.
And yet the stories of Mexico crack me up, as I realize that the bonds being nourished with her other side of the family are building blocks, helping to fully form who she is. She chats with her grandparents in English on Skype as she sings "Abuelito dime tú..." everytime she sees my father-in-law, a refrain from a popular children's song from Mexico: "Grandpa tell it to me..." which he replies "Angélica dime tú" (Angelica, YOU tell it to me). I would have never believed a two-year-old could tease, but they tell me that when she sees her aunt Magos (short for Margarita) she throws up her hands and says "Hola, tía MANOS" (manos=hands) instead of Magos, yet refers to her "correctly" when she's out of earshot. She chatters away about the chickens she's been feeding and the towers she's made of tierra. She impresses the neighbor children--older than her--as she "reads" to them in Spanish out of her beloved picture books, repeating the words that's she's heard her daddy pronounce over and over, knowing where they go by recognizing the images that correspond on each page. I marvel at her ability to blend right into this "other" culture.
But back to the empty house. I remind myself that they're with family. I pause and think--who is family? People have asked me this week when my family is coming home, and I must admit to feeling confusion at first--my mind would go to my parents and I would think Mom and Dad aren't out of town....oh yeah, they must mean Rufino and Angelica! It is embarrassing to admit, but I DO admit I have this fuzziness about family. Everyone else infers the obvious--my family is my husband and child--and I realize that this true. Yet, I still feel strongly attached to my "family of origin", as I know Rufino does, too--we spend a lot of resources in order to get him connected and able to visit his parents as often as possible, given the circumstances of being in two different countries.
When did becoming an independent adult translate into not needing the support and nearness of our parents and/or other significant "extended" family members anymore? Nothing like becoming a parent has shoved me into the world of "independence" and "adulthood". But I relish the times my daughter spends with her grandparents both near and far. I love going to my parents' house and having dinner together or just being together. Many times, quite frankly, I feel that I need it. I need them--their presence, their support.
Can I be both independent and dependent? An adult and also an adult child? A loving parent who needs desperately to be nurtured at the same time?
My family is coming home in two days, and I couldn't be happier in the anticipation to have them back. Yet I also am incredibly grateful that they could spend time with family. His family. Who is now her family as well.
I think the answer to my questions is YES. I believe that a family can function as a circle, one to wrap its loving arms around its members at different stages of life, one to support and form life at a young age, and strengthen those who belong to it. Its arc is then completed when we remember to return once and again with those who helped shape who we are.
My husband and daughter have been out of town for over a week...hubby went to visit his parents and relatives in Mexico and took Angelica along. I stayed behind really, isn't it every frazzled parent's dream? To have a few days awaaaay from the 24/7 chaos of family-with-a-small-child life?
Yes, it's been nice to have a "break", but I've spent most of my days outside of the house, since it's honestly a little too painful at times to have all of this silence wrapping around me in a place where Angelica's laughter bounces off the walls and the pitter-patter of her feet up and down the hall, along with shrieks of happiness normally abide.
And yet the stories of Mexico crack me up, as I realize that the bonds being nourished with her other side of the family are building blocks, helping to fully form who she is. She chats with her grandparents in English on Skype as she sings "Abuelito dime tú..." everytime she sees my father-in-law, a refrain from a popular children's song from Mexico: "Grandpa tell it to me..." which he replies "Angélica dime tú" (Angelica, YOU tell it to me). I would have never believed a two-year-old could tease, but they tell me that when she sees her aunt Magos (short for Margarita) she throws up her hands and says "Hola, tía MANOS" (manos=hands) instead of Magos, yet refers to her "correctly" when she's out of earshot. She chatters away about the chickens she's been feeding and the towers she's made of tierra. She impresses the neighbor children--older than her--as she "reads" to them in Spanish out of her beloved picture books, repeating the words that's she's heard her daddy pronounce over and over, knowing where they go by recognizing the images that correspond on each page. I marvel at her ability to blend right into this "other" culture.
But back to the empty house. I remind myself that they're with family. I pause and think--who is family? People have asked me this week when my family is coming home, and I must admit to feeling confusion at first--my mind would go to my parents and I would think Mom and Dad aren't out of town....oh yeah, they must mean Rufino and Angelica! It is embarrassing to admit, but I DO admit I have this fuzziness about family. Everyone else infers the obvious--my family is my husband and child--and I realize that this true. Yet, I still feel strongly attached to my "family of origin", as I know Rufino does, too--we spend a lot of resources in order to get him connected and able to visit his parents as often as possible, given the circumstances of being in two different countries.
When did becoming an independent adult translate into not needing the support and nearness of our parents and/or other significant "extended" family members anymore? Nothing like becoming a parent has shoved me into the world of "independence" and "adulthood". But I relish the times my daughter spends with her grandparents both near and far. I love going to my parents' house and having dinner together or just being together. Many times, quite frankly, I feel that I need it. I need them--their presence, their support.
Can I be both independent and dependent? An adult and also an adult child? A loving parent who needs desperately to be nurtured at the same time?
My family is coming home in two days, and I couldn't be happier in the anticipation to have them back. Yet I also am incredibly grateful that they could spend time with family. His family. Who is now her family as well.
I think the answer to my questions is YES. I believe that a family can function as a circle, one to wrap its loving arms around its members at different stages of life, one to support and form life at a young age, and strengthen those who belong to it. Its arc is then completed when we remember to return once and again with those who helped shape who we are.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
In the meantime
The thing with being a parent is that as soon as you have one area under control, another challenge rises up from the deep and threatens to take all of your sanity with it, and while you step from the once comfortable path toward an unknown new direction it seems that you find yourself in the meantime...
Last week we started potty-training. "We" was really me, and I think that's the heart of the problem. It wasn't a problem at the beginning; no, it was more like the perfect solution for the circumstances--being that my friend with twins, who is also a teacher, brought up the fact that all three toddlers would be well-served by knowing how to use the toilet before school starts in August. And on my end, there was the other slightly pressing detail of my pregnancy, and the fact that I was determined to grit my teeth and get this done before baby #2 comes along in December. So I took Angelica to my friend's house for a little potty-training boot camp. Spend a couple days with the twins, everyone watching each other drink lots of juice and sit on the potty at intervals, and then some tasty treats (read: chocolate) for continual motivation. The first morning seemed like a success--Angelica, along with the twins, peed in their potties and all was well. All was well until she "held it" for about five hours after that, and in utter defeat, I had to put a diaper on her and take my melting-down-haven't-had-a-nap toddler to the car.
In the meantime I stressed and exploded inwardly. Was I not teaching her what she needed to do? She's smart enough--why won't she just do it? I felt like a failure because she wouldn't comply. I still do, to be perfectly honest. I compared this challenge to my previous weaning escapade, laughing that the previous one was emotional and that this was just physical run-around. But I stopped laughing when I realize how wounded I've been feeling. This is also emotional. It's so emotionally draining that I am exhausted by the effort of wondering what I could be doing better to make this work.
But that's the thing. You've never seen someone more dedicated to the cause. My friend and I call each other, speaking in tones of anguish as one of her twins regresses and Angelica seems to not progress. We tote the potties with us the library and the park--Angelica stark naked, just sitting on her potty in broad daylight--as the park employee and teenage girls on bikes pass by try not to stare. And I die inwardly of embarrassment but press on...and I'm thankful that I can lean on my friend for support since she knows exactly what this feels like.
In the meantime, I keep hearing that this will happen on its own time, that she will show me when she's ready. I believe it, but I also hold on to the pride of accomplishment--this is a parenting task I want to cross of of the list of things to do--I want some control in this, or at least to demonstrate some leadership. I want to show the world something palpable that I've done in the hopes of proving that I'm doing a good job. Still looking for that outside approval, I suppose. And of course, I want it done before school starts and the baby comes and life becomes that much more chaotic. So I don't think my motives are all that bad...
Right now we are neither here nor there. We are in the middle--not in diapers but not out of them, exactly. Everyday has its hopes and disappointments and so I ask--what do I do in the meantime? I write about it because I don't want to someday forget that this was a struggle. In our pre-child days, we measure our actions by accomplishments. As parents, we learn that sometimes just giving it you best effort--one more day--is the best you can do.
In the meantime, maybe we'll try pull-ups...
Last week we started potty-training. "We" was really me, and I think that's the heart of the problem. It wasn't a problem at the beginning; no, it was more like the perfect solution for the circumstances--being that my friend with twins, who is also a teacher, brought up the fact that all three toddlers would be well-served by knowing how to use the toilet before school starts in August. And on my end, there was the other slightly pressing detail of my pregnancy, and the fact that I was determined to grit my teeth and get this done before baby #2 comes along in December. So I took Angelica to my friend's house for a little potty-training boot camp. Spend a couple days with the twins, everyone watching each other drink lots of juice and sit on the potty at intervals, and then some tasty treats (read: chocolate) for continual motivation. The first morning seemed like a success--Angelica, along with the twins, peed in their potties and all was well. All was well until she "held it" for about five hours after that, and in utter defeat, I had to put a diaper on her and take my melting-down-haven't-had-a-nap toddler to the car.
In the meantime I stressed and exploded inwardly. Was I not teaching her what she needed to do? She's smart enough--why won't she just do it? I felt like a failure because she wouldn't comply. I still do, to be perfectly honest. I compared this challenge to my previous weaning escapade, laughing that the previous one was emotional and that this was just physical run-around. But I stopped laughing when I realize how wounded I've been feeling. This is also emotional. It's so emotionally draining that I am exhausted by the effort of wondering what I could be doing better to make this work.
But that's the thing. You've never seen someone more dedicated to the cause. My friend and I call each other, speaking in tones of anguish as one of her twins regresses and Angelica seems to not progress. We tote the potties with us the library and the park--Angelica stark naked, just sitting on her potty in broad daylight--as the park employee and teenage girls on bikes pass by try not to stare. And I die inwardly of embarrassment but press on...and I'm thankful that I can lean on my friend for support since she knows exactly what this feels like.
In the meantime, I keep hearing that this will happen on its own time, that she will show me when she's ready. I believe it, but I also hold on to the pride of accomplishment--this is a parenting task I want to cross of of the list of things to do--I want some control in this, or at least to demonstrate some leadership. I want to show the world something palpable that I've done in the hopes of proving that I'm doing a good job. Still looking for that outside approval, I suppose. And of course, I want it done before school starts and the baby comes and life becomes that much more chaotic. So I don't think my motives are all that bad...
Right now we are neither here nor there. We are in the middle--not in diapers but not out of them, exactly. Everyday has its hopes and disappointments and so I ask--what do I do in the meantime? I write about it because I don't want to someday forget that this was a struggle. In our pre-child days, we measure our actions by accomplishments. As parents, we learn that sometimes just giving it you best effort--one more day--is the best you can do.
In the meantime, maybe we'll try pull-ups...
Friday, July 2, 2010
Words, words, words
Thoughts that keep coming back to me lately, words of "wisdom" for me:
1) When you give a gift, don't expect anything back, including an expression of thanks. This also includes "gifts" of encouragement or just a nice e-mail. If it comes back to you, all the better. If it does not, and you expected it to, what was the value of the gift, anyway? This is a hard one for me but it's important.
2) "Not everything that's true needs to be said". Thanks, Lanita for that one....it's goes against every fiber in my being to keep some things "unsaid" but if I'd live by this one, I'd live much more peacefully with others, I think...
3) "You weren't around when you were young". This one comes from Dad. As in, you don't remember the junk that you did when you were that age. But oh yes, we do...
4) "I need help". Interestingly, this came from the book How to Raise Totally Awesome Kids by Chuck and Jenni Borsellino. I'm realizing more and more how hard it is for me to reach out and admit that as a pregnant mother of a toddler, I am overwhelmed and need help. Emotionally and physically, but I do no one a great service by trying to carry the burden alone. I will seek out more help.
5) Keep it real. In relationships, I hide from the "messy" stuff because it hurts to deal with it. But the more I am open with my feelings, the more I feel accepting of the differences I ineveitably will have at times with others.
6) "What's said during jury duty, stays at jury duty". Thanks, judge for that one. I guess that goes along with #2, so if I'm called in again for a nice juicy case, I will have a tough time with #6 as well. *Sigh*
7) It's okay to find your own rhythm. Taken from Angelica and her Kindermusik teacher, Miss Cindy. Stand when other sit, tap the floor when others tap the drum. Do what you must, but be true to your heart's dictation.
Happy fourth of July weekend!
1) When you give a gift, don't expect anything back, including an expression of thanks. This also includes "gifts" of encouragement or just a nice e-mail. If it comes back to you, all the better. If it does not, and you expected it to, what was the value of the gift, anyway? This is a hard one for me but it's important.
2) "Not everything that's true needs to be said". Thanks, Lanita for that one....it's goes against every fiber in my being to keep some things "unsaid" but if I'd live by this one, I'd live much more peacefully with others, I think...
3) "You weren't around when you were young". This one comes from Dad. As in, you don't remember the junk that you did when you were that age. But oh yes, we do...
4) "I need help". Interestingly, this came from the book How to Raise Totally Awesome Kids by Chuck and Jenni Borsellino. I'm realizing more and more how hard it is for me to reach out and admit that as a pregnant mother of a toddler, I am overwhelmed and need help. Emotionally and physically, but I do no one a great service by trying to carry the burden alone. I will seek out more help.
5) Keep it real. In relationships, I hide from the "messy" stuff because it hurts to deal with it. But the more I am open with my feelings, the more I feel accepting of the differences I ineveitably will have at times with others.
6) "What's said during jury duty, stays at jury duty". Thanks, judge for that one. I guess that goes along with #2, so if I'm called in again for a nice juicy case, I will have a tough time with #6 as well. *Sigh*
7) It's okay to find your own rhythm. Taken from Angelica and her Kindermusik teacher, Miss Cindy. Stand when other sit, tap the floor when others tap the drum. Do what you must, but be true to your heart's dictation.
Happy fourth of July weekend!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Serendipity
We had just gotten back from a week on the road, and after driving straight through the entire state of Kentucky--taking advantage of the fact that little Angelica was still napping--by the time we arrived in Florence for "one last stop" before heading home we were...wiped...out. Hubby suggested Olive Garden and I said Why not? So there we were, corralled into a corner booth a couple hours earlier than the standard Friday night rush, and I couldn't have been happier to be somewhat hidden, sweaty and casually clothed and just generally feeling unkempt after so many hours as a road warrior. And a very hungry one, at that.
Minutes after we arrived, we noticed that in the next booth was another family with a little girl, a sweet and gregarious little blond girl with glasses, probably about four. She noticed us and was delighted to see that we also had a little one in tow. Angelica, shy at first (what a deception!) observed with guarded interest as the other little girl pulled out all the tricks to get her attention, waving, asking her name and my name, jumping up and down and making silly faces. As I watched it all play out, a slow smile played on my lips until I was finally feeling relaxed and less self-conscious. I waited to see my daughter's reaction, and I knew it was coming.
It came. Angelica's joy finally let loose and all timidity was gone in a flash. She squealed, she jumped, she mirrored the other girl's faces and movements. She made her own faces, and the other girl obliged by imitating them as well. My husband and I laughed. The other parents, however, were not so endeared. "Honey, stop jumping! You're bigger than her". "Turn around, because I want to color with you". It seemed like they got more desperate as the time went on, to try anything to get their daughter to leave ours alone. At one point I said "It's okay, they're just playing". I looked around, there was virtually no one around us. There was a booth across from us with three adults, none of which seemed to notice us. The servers laughed as they approached our tables. I thought, Are the other parents the only ones bothered by this? They were two little girls, entertaining each other while waiting for food at a restaurant, a seemingly natural and amusing activity. For us, the fatigue and tension of driving slipped away as we watched them in action. Although the other girl's father didn't seem to share our point of view, at one point he did joke: "Dinner and a show anyone?"
The food came and we all ate, save some distractions from the younger crowd and soon the other family was leaving. Seemed they couldn't leave soon enough, and as they walked by our booth neither parent looked at us as the little girl and Angelica said their good-byes. I felt saddened, since it had been a pleasant experience for us. Had we ruined their dinner out?
Then my husband reminded me of a pre-baby trip we were fortunate to take to South America. We were staying in a hotel near Iguazu Falls and met an Argentine couple in the game room. Even though at first I wasn't drawn to them--thinking Argentines are sooooo loud!--soon they struck up a conversation with us and by the end of the evening, we were sharing music CD's at drinking mate together, while asking people to take pictures of the four of us. We remember them fondly, and always say that we'd love to go to Argentina some day to visit our friends.
We thought back about the hotels we had been at during the last week of traveling to South Carolina. Nice people, yes. Some shared conversations, here and there. Yet I started thinking that Americans tend to prefer sticking to themselves in similar situations. Was it cultural? Americans don't want to get involved with "strangers"? Too unsafe. We insist on maintaining our personal space.
Fortunately I had another serendipitous moment the midst of those negative thoughts. After the other family left, I realized that an older, African-American gentleman (who I thought wasn't paying attention to us) at the booth across from us was listening intently as Angelica sang "Baa Baa Black Sheep" to herself. He applauded her effort at the end of the song, and then launched into his own version of the song, much to our surprise and delight, pausing to check with me about the words, and then making up his own lyrics anyway. From across the way, he then asked what Angelica's name was, and continued to heap loving attention on her. Periodically he would come out with another made-up song: "I'm a big girl now, I'm a big girl now, I pay the bill, yes I'm a big girl now" as she gave the credit card to the waiter, followed by the same chant with "I'm leaving now" as we stood up to go. We took Angelica over to say goodbye and blow kisses. and I noticed his shirt: World's Greatest Grandpa. I said that it was a very appropriate shirt for him!
That greatest grandpa made my heart expand. He didn't have to show such kindness, but it just seemed to flow out of him naturally. He didn't care who heard him, and neither did I. And now I am reminded that these moments happen wherever and whenever, not only while traveling abroad. And to put it all in perspective, the other family was doing what they thought was best, too. Maybe it is better that children don't bounce around on restaurant booths "bothering" the people around them. I understand that.
Perhaps I'm too leniant, myself. It might be a good idea to nip this kind of behavior in the bud while she's only two. But honestly, a little booth bouncing doesn't bother me. I (not so) secretly like watching those kind of spontaneous acts of joy come about: while traveling, in a restaurant, at the community pool. Could it be that I, the introvert, live a little vicariously through my daughter's unabandoned interactions?
I think the greatest grandpa would sing to that.
Minutes after we arrived, we noticed that in the next booth was another family with a little girl, a sweet and gregarious little blond girl with glasses, probably about four. She noticed us and was delighted to see that we also had a little one in tow. Angelica, shy at first (what a deception!) observed with guarded interest as the other little girl pulled out all the tricks to get her attention, waving, asking her name and my name, jumping up and down and making silly faces. As I watched it all play out, a slow smile played on my lips until I was finally feeling relaxed and less self-conscious. I waited to see my daughter's reaction, and I knew it was coming.
It came. Angelica's joy finally let loose and all timidity was gone in a flash. She squealed, she jumped, she mirrored the other girl's faces and movements. She made her own faces, and the other girl obliged by imitating them as well. My husband and I laughed. The other parents, however, were not so endeared. "Honey, stop jumping! You're bigger than her". "Turn around, because I want to color with you". It seemed like they got more desperate as the time went on, to try anything to get their daughter to leave ours alone. At one point I said "It's okay, they're just playing". I looked around, there was virtually no one around us. There was a booth across from us with three adults, none of which seemed to notice us. The servers laughed as they approached our tables. I thought, Are the other parents the only ones bothered by this? They were two little girls, entertaining each other while waiting for food at a restaurant, a seemingly natural and amusing activity. For us, the fatigue and tension of driving slipped away as we watched them in action. Although the other girl's father didn't seem to share our point of view, at one point he did joke: "Dinner and a show anyone?"
The food came and we all ate, save some distractions from the younger crowd and soon the other family was leaving. Seemed they couldn't leave soon enough, and as they walked by our booth neither parent looked at us as the little girl and Angelica said their good-byes. I felt saddened, since it had been a pleasant experience for us. Had we ruined their dinner out?
Then my husband reminded me of a pre-baby trip we were fortunate to take to South America. We were staying in a hotel near Iguazu Falls and met an Argentine couple in the game room. Even though at first I wasn't drawn to them--thinking Argentines are sooooo loud!--soon they struck up a conversation with us and by the end of the evening, we were sharing music CD's at drinking mate together, while asking people to take pictures of the four of us. We remember them fondly, and always say that we'd love to go to Argentina some day to visit our friends.
We thought back about the hotels we had been at during the last week of traveling to South Carolina. Nice people, yes. Some shared conversations, here and there. Yet I started thinking that Americans tend to prefer sticking to themselves in similar situations. Was it cultural? Americans don't want to get involved with "strangers"? Too unsafe. We insist on maintaining our personal space.
Fortunately I had another serendipitous moment the midst of those negative thoughts. After the other family left, I realized that an older, African-American gentleman (who I thought wasn't paying attention to us) at the booth across from us was listening intently as Angelica sang "Baa Baa Black Sheep" to herself. He applauded her effort at the end of the song, and then launched into his own version of the song, much to our surprise and delight, pausing to check with me about the words, and then making up his own lyrics anyway. From across the way, he then asked what Angelica's name was, and continued to heap loving attention on her. Periodically he would come out with another made-up song: "I'm a big girl now, I'm a big girl now, I pay the bill, yes I'm a big girl now" as she gave the credit card to the waiter, followed by the same chant with "I'm leaving now" as we stood up to go. We took Angelica over to say goodbye and blow kisses. and I noticed his shirt: World's Greatest Grandpa. I said that it was a very appropriate shirt for him!
That greatest grandpa made my heart expand. He didn't have to show such kindness, but it just seemed to flow out of him naturally. He didn't care who heard him, and neither did I. And now I am reminded that these moments happen wherever and whenever, not only while traveling abroad. And to put it all in perspective, the other family was doing what they thought was best, too. Maybe it is better that children don't bounce around on restaurant booths "bothering" the people around them. I understand that.
Perhaps I'm too leniant, myself. It might be a good idea to nip this kind of behavior in the bud while she's only two. But honestly, a little booth bouncing doesn't bother me. I (not so) secretly like watching those kind of spontaneous acts of joy come about: while traveling, in a restaurant, at the community pool. Could it be that I, the introvert, live a little vicariously through my daughter's unabandoned interactions?
I think the greatest grandpa would sing to that.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Must Travel
I take a deep breath and feel the mental weight of worry, worry that I am tired of carrying around with me and want to let go of. Why is it that the things that bring me such joy in life also make me dizzy with anxiety? Child-rearing is a given, of course. But travel is what is heavy on my mind right now. Part of the problem is that I never give the preparation part the time and energy it deserves. Packing calls for a type of person that is more detail-oriented than me. Funny, since I've done it so many times and it is a prerequisite to going ANYWHERE...you'd think I'd be farther along than I am now, but I'm not. I half-heartedly dump stuff into a suitcase and then scratch my head hours later when I open it, only to realize I've forgotten the toothbrush or the razor or the deoderant...again. Plus, what was I thinking with that outfit?! I'm not feeling it now, whatever inspired me to add it to the mix the night before.
Forget the fatigue of preparation woes, the anxiety comes from somewhere else--which must be the Unknown. Things could go well, or something could go wrong. Money might run out, or unexpected expenses might come up. Or who knows what else. But what will I see, and where will I go? That's what drives me. I have to see something new, or visit a loved one, or both, and expand myself and my horizons. Every time I do, I come home recharged. And interestingly enough, it's one of my favorite activities to do with my daughter as well. Who wouldn't melt at the sight of a two-year old safely buckled into her seat on the plane, singing with Daddy and happily awaiting the thrill of landing? Me, of course....well that's another story. In the momemt I smile tightly, and grasp the armrests like hand weights. And I worry that the plane will overrun the runway....and I think about how I used to be like her, I used to be so free when I would fly...
In those moments that I push through the worry and the fatigue of pre-travel/travel I do fly. I am never so alive as when I'm going somewhere. Contentment, pure joy. I live to travel and I reconnect with that free, flying, joyous me that gets buried in the routine of everyday life when I am on the move. Yet the most freeing thing of all is to find myself flying unexpectedly in the middle of the day-to-day itself. It will come out of nowhere and bite me in the butt, but ever so often I have that moment...where I know that this is where it's at. Waving goodbye as she stands at the top and sits in Daddy's hand to go down the twisty slide with her one more time. Watching the connections made as she repeats a new word, a sentence. Pulling weeds out of the flower garden together as she triumphantly shouts "Bye-bye, little yuckies!" Listening to he squeal of delight in anticipation of a cool bath on a hot June day. Just being together.
In those moments, there is no worry, no anxiety. Now, I know that I will push through the fog of packing and worry that has settled over me for this next trip, and I will soon find myself in the other bliss of routine-free joy. Laughing and marveling at new experiences. I close my eyes and visualize it now, and feel my breathing slow down. May I come to experience, one day, a sense of calm to overrule the worry that threatens to steal that joy.
Forget the fatigue of preparation woes, the anxiety comes from somewhere else--which must be the Unknown. Things could go well, or something could go wrong. Money might run out, or unexpected expenses might come up. Or who knows what else. But what will I see, and where will I go? That's what drives me. I have to see something new, or visit a loved one, or both, and expand myself and my horizons. Every time I do, I come home recharged. And interestingly enough, it's one of my favorite activities to do with my daughter as well. Who wouldn't melt at the sight of a two-year old safely buckled into her seat on the plane, singing with Daddy and happily awaiting the thrill of landing? Me, of course....well that's another story. In the momemt I smile tightly, and grasp the armrests like hand weights. And I worry that the plane will overrun the runway....and I think about how I used to be like her, I used to be so free when I would fly...
In those moments that I push through the worry and the fatigue of pre-travel/travel I do fly. I am never so alive as when I'm going somewhere. Contentment, pure joy. I live to travel and I reconnect with that free, flying, joyous me that gets buried in the routine of everyday life when I am on the move. Yet the most freeing thing of all is to find myself flying unexpectedly in the middle of the day-to-day itself. It will come out of nowhere and bite me in the butt, but ever so often I have that moment...where I know that this is where it's at. Waving goodbye as she stands at the top and sits in Daddy's hand to go down the twisty slide with her one more time. Watching the connections made as she repeats a new word, a sentence. Pulling weeds out of the flower garden together as she triumphantly shouts "Bye-bye, little yuckies!" Listening to he squeal of delight in anticipation of a cool bath on a hot June day. Just being together.
In those moments, there is no worry, no anxiety. Now, I know that I will push through the fog of packing and worry that has settled over me for this next trip, and I will soon find myself in the other bliss of routine-free joy. Laughing and marveling at new experiences. I close my eyes and visualize it now, and feel my breathing slow down. May I come to experience, one day, a sense of calm to overrule the worry that threatens to steal that joy.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Randomness
The end of the semester has crested in all of its drama once again, and then ceased, and now I'm left in the aftermath...feeling a little anti-climatic. I ponder the sign by our university announcing today's ceremony of "commencement" and wonder why years ago they didn't choose a word that actually means the end instead of the beginning in order to refer to graduation. Yes, typical graduation speeches are full of references to the fact that the new graduatates truly are beginning a new chapter of their lives, but having been through so many end-of-the-semesters as an instructor, and as student now years ago, I prefer to see it for what it is: completion. I see a student passing by and I quickly review in my mind's excel sheet (too bad I've never been as savvy using the real kind) his/her grade. The anxiousness settles in on me instead of the student. What grade did I give her? Will she be upset with me now that grades are posted? Ridiculousness, and you'd never think you'd hear that from your teachers. But that's where I stand at the end. Making it all about me.
I have been really irritable lately and wonder why it seems like there is a physical pull the keeps me away from writing. I've pulled out the microscopic lens to examine all the things that went wrong over the last few months, since they went by so fast that mostly I was just surviving and not reflecting (except in my sub-consciousness and a few cautious remarks here and there to a sympathetic ear). I know I sound pessimistic, but change is unsettling and there has been a lot of it lately. So I let out a weary sigh at the end of another semester because at least it's one thing I can check off my list that is completely finished, closed, nicely and neatly. Most other things can't be wrapped up that orderly. Maybe that's why I had a minor breakdown about the house being a mess to my husband. One more thing to set me off because I can't get a handle on it, can't complete it. (To my orderly readers: this is not just an "oops why can't I keep up with laundry/dusting lament"....No, on the contrary we have lived in disorder for so long that I would laugh if I saw or smelled my house "clean" just one day while walking in the door, without the random pileup of stuff and dust, and sometimes ants and spiders or crumbs and spills that linger...) Why can't I figure this stuff out? And now I mean all of it--not just the physical mess. The inner disarray is more unsettling. The questions I really seem to be getting at now that I have a moment to think...Am I really good at what I'm doing?....Is it time to transition into another direction with work?...Why did I do "x" in "y" situation? Why did that relationship turn out that way? It's too much self, self, self. An overdose of self-consciousness.
So that's when I know (even though something in me fights it so severly) that I need to write, since it's one activity that seems to keep me sane. Why? Because it gets me out of myself. (Weirdly, enough, yes..even when I'm writing about that durn self).
Madeleine L'Engle put words to this truth about getting out of one's self so well in her memoir A Circle of Quiet and I felt privileged to just happen to stumble upon it this afternoon. She says:
"In real play, which is real concentration, the child is not only outside time, he is outside himself. He has thrown himself completely into whatever it is that he is doing. A child playing a game, building a sand castle, painting a picture, is completely in what he is doing. His self-consciousness is gone; his consciousness is wholly focused outside himself. When we are self-conscious, we cannot be wholly aware; we must throw ourselves out first. This throwing ourselves away is the act of creativity. So, when we wholly concentrate, like a child in play, or an artist at work, then we share in the act of creating. We not only escape time, we also escape our self-conscious selves....A writer may be self-conscious about his work before and after but not during the writing..." (Engle 10)
So even though the forces that may seem to want to keep me away from it, I MUST write. I must get outside of myself and in the process, become free. In the midst of the craziness of these last few months, another activity that has kept me sane is watching my daughter at play (as Madeleine mentions). In my mind's eye I see her soul in the joy expressed when she throws her head back and closes her eyes, begging to go higher as the wind blows throw her hair and the birds chirp all around us and we both laugh...I have felt myself so freed just by the observation of it. Now I get the connection between her moments of complete abandon and my occasional moments when I break through the mental fog and barriers that try to keep me from creativity. I need to be creative in order to become me, and to forget me. Happiness is laughing until you snort and then laughing even more because you snorted--and you don't care about looking stupid to the person who is laughing right along with (and probably also at but who cares) you. Happiness is throwing that negative lens away and saying: "I did the best I could in such a challenging situation. Maybe next time I'll do even better."
And as for "commencement," what's done is done. I'm going to throw out that red pen for the summer and try to delete the mental spreadsheet.
I have been really irritable lately and wonder why it seems like there is a physical pull the keeps me away from writing. I've pulled out the microscopic lens to examine all the things that went wrong over the last few months, since they went by so fast that mostly I was just surviving and not reflecting (except in my sub-consciousness and a few cautious remarks here and there to a sympathetic ear). I know I sound pessimistic, but change is unsettling and there has been a lot of it lately. So I let out a weary sigh at the end of another semester because at least it's one thing I can check off my list that is completely finished, closed, nicely and neatly. Most other things can't be wrapped up that orderly. Maybe that's why I had a minor breakdown about the house being a mess to my husband. One more thing to set me off because I can't get a handle on it, can't complete it. (To my orderly readers: this is not just an "oops why can't I keep up with laundry/dusting lament"....No, on the contrary we have lived in disorder for so long that I would laugh if I saw or smelled my house "clean" just one day while walking in the door, without the random pileup of stuff and dust, and sometimes ants and spiders or crumbs and spills that linger...) Why can't I figure this stuff out? And now I mean all of it--not just the physical mess. The inner disarray is more unsettling. The questions I really seem to be getting at now that I have a moment to think...Am I really good at what I'm doing?....Is it time to transition into another direction with work?...Why did I do "x" in "y" situation? Why did that relationship turn out that way? It's too much self, self, self. An overdose of self-consciousness.
So that's when I know (even though something in me fights it so severly) that I need to write, since it's one activity that seems to keep me sane. Why? Because it gets me out of myself. (Weirdly, enough, yes..even when I'm writing about that durn self).
Madeleine L'Engle put words to this truth about getting out of one's self so well in her memoir A Circle of Quiet and I felt privileged to just happen to stumble upon it this afternoon. She says:
"In real play, which is real concentration, the child is not only outside time, he is outside himself. He has thrown himself completely into whatever it is that he is doing. A child playing a game, building a sand castle, painting a picture, is completely in what he is doing. His self-consciousness is gone; his consciousness is wholly focused outside himself. When we are self-conscious, we cannot be wholly aware; we must throw ourselves out first. This throwing ourselves away is the act of creativity. So, when we wholly concentrate, like a child in play, or an artist at work, then we share in the act of creating. We not only escape time, we also escape our self-conscious selves....A writer may be self-conscious about his work before and after but not during the writing..." (Engle 10)
So even though the forces that may seem to want to keep me away from it, I MUST write. I must get outside of myself and in the process, become free. In the midst of the craziness of these last few months, another activity that has kept me sane is watching my daughter at play (as Madeleine mentions). In my mind's eye I see her soul in the joy expressed when she throws her head back and closes her eyes, begging to go higher as the wind blows throw her hair and the birds chirp all around us and we both laugh...I have felt myself so freed just by the observation of it. Now I get the connection between her moments of complete abandon and my occasional moments when I break through the mental fog and barriers that try to keep me from creativity. I need to be creative in order to become me, and to forget me. Happiness is laughing until you snort and then laughing even more because you snorted--and you don't care about looking stupid to the person who is laughing right along with (and probably also at but who cares) you. Happiness is throwing that negative lens away and saying: "I did the best I could in such a challenging situation. Maybe next time I'll do even better."
And as for "commencement," what's done is done. I'm going to throw out that red pen for the summer and try to delete the mental spreadsheet.
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