During my early twenties, I had the privilage to travel extensively.
Although I often travelled with friends, one of my most cherished memories was the trip I took with my grandmother. A fiercly independent woman even during her retirement years, she became a role model for me and the way I want to live my life: with adventure, travel and a curious mind.
At 20, she took me to Europe. We explored England, France, Scotland and Belgium.Some of my friends at the time (and hers) wondered if we would - or could - enjoy our time together, especially considering the generational gap. She was in her 70's and I in my 20's. What would we talk about on those long train rides? Won't we want to do and see different things? What could we really enjoy doing together for two weeks like that? Everything. Wouldn't we rather go with someone closer to our own age? Absolutly not.
We walked the day out in Brussels; we studied the Mona Lisa in the Louvre; we travelled to Shakespeare's home in Bathe and listened to the flute players in the street; we ate croissantes and espresso while idolizing the view of the Eiffel tower. We laughed so hard at times we were crying. And, as I remember she contained more energy for life at seventy something than I did in my youthful twenties. I admired then - and still do now -- her energy that often carries mine.
In June, my son will meet his great-grandmother for the first time. One day I will tell him the stories of our travels together, so that he may live through the adventures of ours. That way, the generational gap won't ever mean much, at least not when it comes to travel, love, and a curious mind.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
My son began to teeth last night.
At not quite four months, he was ahead of schedule, or at least this is what my First Year Of Life book tells me. My parenting books pile up on the countertop: What To Expect During Their First Year, Your Baby, Your Life and So This is What It's Like?, stare at me from across the room. I breathe in, I sigh. I refer to them on a weekly basis and compare notes. Am I feeding him as I should? Is he getting enough tummy time? Is he progressing physically, emotionally, mentally. I attach my self- worth to their harsh opinions and advice.
I am convinced the universe was testing my strength as a mother.
Last night our dinner got cold. It was 7:02pm, and I was feeling proud of myself for having the energy -- in my sleep deprived state -- to go to the supermarket, buy some fresh garlic, tomatoes and pasta and create a new dish for dinner. Although to some making a new dish is nothing out of the ordinary, Miles appreciated it. He looked up at me and smiled as if to say GREAT JOB. Whether he smiled out of appreciation or support or just passing gas, it didn't matter. He was proud of me. I was proud of myself, dammit. Something besides baked chicken or speghetti. Way to go.
I cooked the pasta, browned and seasoned the meat and added my own touch (extra mozzarella cheese) before popping it into the oven. Just when the cheese began to bubble up in a sinful way, my son began to scream.
I thought he just aching for some cheese like I was.
After picking him up and quietly shhhhhing in his ear (which usually does the trick) his screams begun to elevate and turn into squeels, a piercing sound of irritability I had never heard from him before.
I held onto him tight. I caressed him. I rubbed his back. I sang him a sweet little lullabye only to be shunned by his violent arms and legs kicking me in protest. Ten long minutes later (was it only ten?) my husband returned from the drugstore with the teething ointment and I couldn't apply it fast enough.
My day as a 'good mother', a mother who knew exactly what to do -- when to burp, feed and change him -- rapidly turned into a hectic, holding-in-the-tears, I-want-to-cry-like-my-baby's-doin' mother. I was not as perfect as I wanted to be. What did my parenting book say about that?
Tonight I heated up the leftovers and we ate in peace. No crying, no teething but a perfect threesome for dinner. Right on track. Tonight I didn't refer to my baby books for an answer. Tonight my baby's peaceful state of being was the only answer I need.
At not quite four months, he was ahead of schedule, or at least this is what my First Year Of Life book tells me. My parenting books pile up on the countertop: What To Expect During Their First Year, Your Baby, Your Life and So This is What It's Like?, stare at me from across the room. I breathe in, I sigh. I refer to them on a weekly basis and compare notes. Am I feeding him as I should? Is he getting enough tummy time? Is he progressing physically, emotionally, mentally. I attach my self- worth to their harsh opinions and advice.
I am convinced the universe was testing my strength as a mother.
Last night our dinner got cold. It was 7:02pm, and I was feeling proud of myself for having the energy -- in my sleep deprived state -- to go to the supermarket, buy some fresh garlic, tomatoes and pasta and create a new dish for dinner. Although to some making a new dish is nothing out of the ordinary, Miles appreciated it. He looked up at me and smiled as if to say GREAT JOB. Whether he smiled out of appreciation or support or just passing gas, it didn't matter. He was proud of me. I was proud of myself, dammit. Something besides baked chicken or speghetti. Way to go.
I cooked the pasta, browned and seasoned the meat and added my own touch (extra mozzarella cheese) before popping it into the oven. Just when the cheese began to bubble up in a sinful way, my son began to scream.
I thought he just aching for some cheese like I was.
After picking him up and quietly shhhhhing in his ear (which usually does the trick) his screams begun to elevate and turn into squeels, a piercing sound of irritability I had never heard from him before.
I held onto him tight. I caressed him. I rubbed his back. I sang him a sweet little lullabye only to be shunned by his violent arms and legs kicking me in protest. Ten long minutes later (was it only ten?) my husband returned from the drugstore with the teething ointment and I couldn't apply it fast enough.
My day as a 'good mother', a mother who knew exactly what to do -- when to burp, feed and change him -- rapidly turned into a hectic, holding-in-the-tears, I-want-to-cry-like-my-baby's-doin' mother. I was not as perfect as I wanted to be. What did my parenting book say about that?
Tonight I heated up the leftovers and we ate in peace. No crying, no teething but a perfect threesome for dinner. Right on track. Tonight I didn't refer to my baby books for an answer. Tonight my baby's peaceful state of being was the only answer I need.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
A Conversation About Comfort Food
My son believes in the finer things in life: napping, being held when he cries, and holding onto his comfort blanket to sooth his distress.
A certain someone in my life admitted that the comfort foods in her life must stop. I agreed in sympthathy. My comfort food intake has been going on for twelve months. Now, I can't blame my ravishing appetite on the pregnancy hormones or the fact that I'm feeding another life. I can't blame my post-pregnancy hormones for my sweet tooth on the fact that breastfeeding uses up to 1,000 calories a day so I deserve that box of Oreos. I am no longer pregnant and I no longer breastfeed. No more excuses.
I too have been guilty of late night runs to Jack-in-the-Box for fries and a vanilla shake; McDonald's for their wonderful hot fudge sundaes, and downing a box of cookies without thinking twice about it. I soooooo get it. Comfort food for us women who do it all. Enough said.
Those women who 'do it all' --- and indulge in the cookies, sundaes, vanilla shakes, cupcakes and red velvet cakes --- convince ourselves that a good dessert will make our daily stressors go away, and that the hard day in front of us will be easier to manage. We tell ourselves this decadent chocolate cupcake is what we deserve, until of course that day turns into the next 30 or 60. We go about our responsibilities -- taking on the raising of children, finances, cooking and cleaning. We become super-mom, and want some comfort, a quick fix, a resolution that we're doing it good enough. We need something that will release us from our humongous responsiblities: the devilish cupcake; the sinful eclair, the tempting Krispy Kreme donut with extra glaze.
We look at our babies or remember the time when we were a baby ourself and idolize how comforting a simple blanket or pacifer was to once fix our distress. Sometimes, we wish it was that easy now to be comforted, safe, peaceful in our heart and mind.
We hold our babies tight and give them all the warm comfort they deserve and not be means of food, but love. We tell them that they are appreciated and perfect just as they are. And, instead of reaching for that dessert tonight, we try to tell ourselves the same thing.
A certain someone in my life admitted that the comfort foods in her life must stop. I agreed in sympthathy. My comfort food intake has been going on for twelve months. Now, I can't blame my ravishing appetite on the pregnancy hormones or the fact that I'm feeding another life. I can't blame my post-pregnancy hormones for my sweet tooth on the fact that breastfeeding uses up to 1,000 calories a day so I deserve that box of Oreos. I am no longer pregnant and I no longer breastfeed. No more excuses.
I too have been guilty of late night runs to Jack-in-the-Box for fries and a vanilla shake; McDonald's for their wonderful hot fudge sundaes, and downing a box of cookies without thinking twice about it. I soooooo get it. Comfort food for us women who do it all. Enough said.
Those women who 'do it all' --- and indulge in the cookies, sundaes, vanilla shakes, cupcakes and red velvet cakes --- convince ourselves that a good dessert will make our daily stressors go away, and that the hard day in front of us will be easier to manage. We tell ourselves this decadent chocolate cupcake is what we deserve, until of course that day turns into the next 30 or 60. We go about our responsibilities -- taking on the raising of children, finances, cooking and cleaning. We become super-mom, and want some comfort, a quick fix, a resolution that we're doing it good enough. We need something that will release us from our humongous responsiblities: the devilish cupcake; the sinful eclair, the tempting Krispy Kreme donut with extra glaze.
We look at our babies or remember the time when we were a baby ourself and idolize how comforting a simple blanket or pacifer was to once fix our distress. Sometimes, we wish it was that easy now to be comforted, safe, peaceful in our heart and mind.
We hold our babies tight and give them all the warm comfort they deserve and not be means of food, but love. We tell them that they are appreciated and perfect just as they are. And, instead of reaching for that dessert tonight, we try to tell ourselves the same thing.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Long Live our Girlfriends!
Every woman needs a good girlfriend or two.
I believe it’s crucial for our development, our mental stability, and it’s necessary in order for us to be the best wife, mother, driven career woman and successful multi-taskers that we are. As sweet as our husbands or boyfriends may be, we need the camaraderie of another female, one that appreciates gabbing for hours over coffee with a decadent chocolate éclair; one that convinces you to buy yet another pair of black heels (and yes, this pair is totally different than all the others you already own); one that can sympathesize with those hormonal changes during that time of the month, because she’s going through the same thing. We depend on our girlfriends to motivate us when we’re down, be our cheerleaders when we need a ‘boost’ and love us unconditionally through it all.
A good girlfriend or two is required --- for our sanity as women.
My grandmother has been friends with her Alpha Omega sorority group since college. They’ve been best friends for fifty years -- and been present – physically and emotionally -- for the most important and influential moments of one another’s lives. They’ve made it a priority to be there for one another – through thick and thin – and I believe their bond of closeness, laughter and companionship has contributed greatly to my grandmother’s wonderfully long and happy life.
What did cave women do during the dark ages? How did they emotionally survive while their husbands were out all day killing their dinner? What about the ladies of the Victorian age? Did they bore themselves to death while they waited around for a proper suitor? No. They formed a bond with their siblings; they created a sisterhood with the ladies of the same village or town – and instantly, a commonality begins.
Whatever time period we are from, we find a way to be there for other women. It takes the form of quilting bees, support groups; cardio classes, weaving circles. Whether we spend our time laughing together, crying together or both at the same time it really doesn’t matter. We are emotional creatures who follow our instincts to bond.
Here’s to the women we lean on for support in our lives. And to the great friend we are to someone else.
Long live our girlfriends!
I believe it’s crucial for our development, our mental stability, and it’s necessary in order for us to be the best wife, mother, driven career woman and successful multi-taskers that we are. As sweet as our husbands or boyfriends may be, we need the camaraderie of another female, one that appreciates gabbing for hours over coffee with a decadent chocolate éclair; one that convinces you to buy yet another pair of black heels (and yes, this pair is totally different than all the others you already own); one that can sympathesize with those hormonal changes during that time of the month, because she’s going through the same thing. We depend on our girlfriends to motivate us when we’re down, be our cheerleaders when we need a ‘boost’ and love us unconditionally through it all.
A good girlfriend or two is required --- for our sanity as women.
My grandmother has been friends with her Alpha Omega sorority group since college. They’ve been best friends for fifty years -- and been present – physically and emotionally -- for the most important and influential moments of one another’s lives. They’ve made it a priority to be there for one another – through thick and thin – and I believe their bond of closeness, laughter and companionship has contributed greatly to my grandmother’s wonderfully long and happy life.
What did cave women do during the dark ages? How did they emotionally survive while their husbands were out all day killing their dinner? What about the ladies of the Victorian age? Did they bore themselves to death while they waited around for a proper suitor? No. They formed a bond with their siblings; they created a sisterhood with the ladies of the same village or town – and instantly, a commonality begins.
Whatever time period we are from, we find a way to be there for other women. It takes the form of quilting bees, support groups; cardio classes, weaving circles. Whether we spend our time laughing together, crying together or both at the same time it really doesn’t matter. We are emotional creatures who follow our instincts to bond.
Here’s to the women we lean on for support in our lives. And to the great friend we are to someone else.
Long live our girlfriends!
Monday, April 5, 2010
The Bassinet
Before my son was born, my mom bought him a bassinet. Considering he screams every time I place him in it, I'm glad she didn't spend a fortune on that investment. Instead, my beloved cat Bandit sleeps in it, a place he has developed as 'his domain', and guards it ferociously.
I knew I would experience some nights of interrupted sleep. After all, I heard of the classic sleepless nights a newborn is prone to. Experienced mothers told me there would be frequent bottle feedings and diaper changings but I at least pictured when he did sleep, he would sleep in his bassinet. By the time we brought him home from the hospital, I placed the bassinet next to my side of the bed. That way, I could easily feed him when he cried. I pictured in my mind the perfect setup: crisp white bassinet sheets to match, and easy accessability. I just didn't expect him to cry each time we placed him in it. Still, three months after his birth when I attempt another try at it, he screams, hollers and shouts for me.
I lose the battle each and every time.
This is one of the many lessons I have learned as a mother. No matter how much sense it makes for my son to sleep in the very place I have picked out for him, he will often find another. What I often think is 'right', my son will insist is wrong. We pick our battles as mothers, and give up when the fight isn't worth fighting for.
And eventually with some luck, we find a use for the thing he will not use. Luckily in my case, I have a cat named Bandit.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
The Little Teacher
A year ago I found out I was pregnant. Like all mothers before me have felt since before becoming a mom, my life has never been the same.
Sometimes I look at my son and am shocked by the look he gives back. So innocent, so smart already. So full of wonder and full of life. Sometimes as we look right into each other’s eyes, I feel like they are full of the lesson's I'm meant to learn.
When I think about how much my son has to learn about the world,and so many steps he needs to take before he becomes a man – he needs to learn how to crawl, walk, learn the English language, gain mobility, learn to read and write, etc… often the way he looks up at me with those 'knowing' eyes puts a halt to my thinking. True, he is a just an infant who does not have those basic skills yet, but it is foolish to think I ‘know’ more than him. He may have just been born, but those piercing eyes of his tell me another story. His eyes seem to stare back at me as if they are desperatly trying to communicate something crucial, tell me what I must figure out, what lesson’s it's time that I learn.
I hope that I will never assume to 'know it all', but instead take my son for the man he is becoming and for what he's teaching me about the woman I'm meant to be.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Trust
The other day my three month old son took a picture with the Easter Bunny. I have to admit it was pretty darn cute: my son's expression, the oversized bunny costume and the look of purity on his face, as if the world had never been greater. As I watched the Easter Bunny hold him, I noticed the way my son was looking at him. It was a look of total and complete trust. He didn't cry or fuss and he certaintly didn't need his mom to pick him up. He was inviting this stranger to hold him as long as he wanted because of trust. And in turn, it got my thinking about my own relationship was trust. How it is now, how it was, and how it's changed over the years.
Children are wonderful to watch because they're taking in the world for the first time, and with an open heart. As a teenager and as a women in my early 20's, I was trusting -- to a fault --- I hadn't yet seen what can happen when you trust without caution and what can happen when someone takes advantage of your trust. I experienced a plethora of wild adventures with trust: betrayal, excitment, unpredictability, friends that lied, cheating boyfriends, and being taken advantage of on numerous occassions.
At 31 years of age my relationship with trust has changed quite a bit. I am now cautious, mindfull and hesitant when I meet someone. As much as I want to assume the best, I proceed with caution, and rely on my intuition, a tool I use to guide me on the right path. As a woman and in the times we live in it only makes sense.
As I watch my son look up at the Easter Bunny with all the trust his little heart can hold, it fills up my own life with hope, hope that the world can be a trusting place for us all. Not even so much for me but for my son. I hope that as my son turns into a man he will have that trusting look forever because he'll never have a reason not to.
Children are wonderful to watch because they're taking in the world for the first time, and with an open heart. As a teenager and as a women in my early 20's, I was trusting -- to a fault --- I hadn't yet seen what can happen when you trust without caution and what can happen when someone takes advantage of your trust. I experienced a plethora of wild adventures with trust: betrayal, excitment, unpredictability, friends that lied, cheating boyfriends, and being taken advantage of on numerous occassions.
At 31 years of age my relationship with trust has changed quite a bit. I am now cautious, mindfull and hesitant when I meet someone. As much as I want to assume the best, I proceed with caution, and rely on my intuition, a tool I use to guide me on the right path. As a woman and in the times we live in it only makes sense.
As I watch my son look up at the Easter Bunny with all the trust his little heart can hold, it fills up my own life with hope, hope that the world can be a trusting place for us all. Not even so much for me but for my son. I hope that as my son turns into a man he will have that trusting look forever because he'll never have a reason not to.
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