Imagination

(This was written about a year ago, but I never posted it)

When I started writing this blog, my intention was for it to be about me and not my children.  I think I’ve done a pretty good job of merely mentioning them a little instead of dedicating entire blog posts to them, however because I’m home with them all day, it’s at times difficult to separate my life from theirs.  With that being said, this post is going to be about my daughter’s wild, active imagination!

Daughter has a friend in her class at school named Melanie*.  I’ve never really seen the two girls interact much, aside from saying hello and goodbye to each other.  To be fair, since I’m not in the classroom with them, this is really the only interaction I see between Daughter and any of her friends!  Well, for whatever reason, Daughter has been pretending that Melanie comes over to play in our backyard.  Last week, I went to dinner and a movie with my sister and soon-to-be sister-in-law and “pretend Melanie” happened to be over playing.  Daughter told me that “Melanie” would be spending the night, but since she had forgotten her jammies, would be borrowing Daughter’s.  I told her that was fine, that “Melanie” was more than welcome to stay the night.  I was pretty stunned that she was still pretending “Melanie” was over, so I figured I would encourage the act to see how long it lasted.  My husband walked the kids to the sushi restaurant down the street from us and Daughter kept up the charade of having “Melanie” along.  Apparently, they had to stop walking a few times so “Melanie” could catch up and Daughter could be heard saying, “come on, Melanie, you need to walk faster!”  At the restaurant, Daughter insisted that “Melanie” also have some soy sauce on a plate next to her.  Once they arrived home, Daughter got ready for bed and pulled out the second set of jammies for “Melanie” and then later on told my husband to be quiet because “Melanie” was asleep on the couch.  The next morning, I asked Daughter if she had a good time with “Melanie” and how the two girls slept.  Daughter looked at me and answered, but then said, “not the real Melanie, the pretend one.”  I guess I was doing such a good job at playing along that she felt the need to clarify that the real friend was never at our house and to make sure that I wasn’t beginning to see things. 

Now, to some people, this whole imaginary friend thing might be cause for concern.  Perhaps I should have my child looked at to make sure she’s “normal.”  Personally, I love it!  As a child, I had a very active imagination and was always making up pretend lives and families so this latest chapter in Daughter’s life is one that I have waited for and am so thrilled it’s upon us so soon in her life.  I always said if my children were to inherit anything from me, I wanted it to be my imagination.  As society changes, and children are talking on their cell phones and using their iPads, I want so desperately to give my children a real childhood, where they can run around and play and read actual books and play board games.  Call me old-fashioned, but if encouraging my children to use their imaginations will help them maintain an extra ounce of their childhood, I will move Heaven and Earth to do so.  There, I said it.

*Name has been changed

Fancy Friday

I realize it's been a year since I've posted anything - how lame am I?  Get ready for an onslaught of entries...

One day at school drop off, I was chatting with some other moms and we discussed how difficult our kids were being lately and perhaps we should meet up for drinks one morning to help ease the craziness.  In hindsight, I don’t know if this was a joke, or a real suggestion, but no one second guessed it!  We came to the conclusion that it’s not socially acceptable to drink alcoholic beverages in the morning…unless, of course, you mix them with juice.  Drinking beer or wine or vodka at 9:30 on a given weekday makes you an alcoholic, however drinking mimosas or Bloody Marys makes you fancy! Thus was the birth of what came to be fondly known as Fancy Friday. 

Instead of going to a restaurant where we could very possibly be judged (especially since two us had our younger children in tow), we decided it would be better to meet at my house and that way the kids could run around and play and we could gossip or be loud without getting the evil eye.  Plus, it was way less expensive to buy a few bottles and share than to buy individual drinks.  Our first Fancy Friday was so much fun!  Of course, we couldn’t have too much fun since we had to pick up our kids from school at noon – talk about a buzzkill.  But, it was nice to let loose a little and realize that as parents, we all struggle and at times might not like our children (gulp). I don’t really trust people that never complain about their kids…everything is perfect all the time and their children are angels who can do no wrong.  Those people are not invited to Fancy Friday.  There, I said it.

Seriously?

I have a minor issue with thinking that people don’t take me seriously, which is funny because I’ve always been an old soul and a pretty serious person.  I just feel like people look at me as if I’m too young to relate to them.  Maybe it’s because I have a pretty young-looking face, which I’ve been told is a compliment, but I swear this has back-fired for me at times.  For example, when I was about 21 years old, I had to have an ultra sound performed on my chest (luckily, I was fine). There was a lady I knew from church sitting in the waiting room, and I swear she was giving me the “oh, you’re that kind of Catholic school girl” look as I nervously waited my turn.  I wanted to say to her, “I’m here for an ultrasound on my boobs, not because I’m pregnant.”  After the procedure (or maybe it was before?  I may look young, but my mind is not as sharp as it once was!), I went to the front desk to take care of paperwork and the receptionist asked to see my driver’s license and then said, “well, that is if you even have one.”  My reply was “yes, not only can I drive, but I can also vote, and get this, I can drink too!”  I’m sure I didn’t say it sarcastically, but that’s what it sounded like in my mind!  Again, I should be so thrilled she thought I was that young and yadda yadda yadda, but I wasn’t.  When were people going to see me for my actual age?

I got engaged a few months after graduating from college and thought perhaps this would be the moment people would take me seriously.  Wrong.  At the time, I had just started working at an entertainment public relations firm.  Most of the people I worked with were older than me, and partly as a result of the grueling work schedule, were single.  So, here I was, a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed 22 year old, newly graduated from college, and engaged.  I knew I was going to get the third degree about being too young to get married so I didn’t wear my engagement ring, or tell anyone I was engaged for about a week.  I felt like I would be rubbing it in the faces of some of the girls who I knew longed for a long-term relationship with something other than their jobs. 

Soon after my wedding, I was offered a job at my former high school.  The position was Director of Development – my position at the PR firm at the time was Assistant.  Talk about a big title jump!  After much thought, I declined the offer because I just didn’t feel comfortable with such a big position that came with a lot of responsibility, including raising approximately $6 million dollars for a new science building at the school.  I imagined being at meetings with super important, and old, people and having them look at me like, “when is the real Director coming?” 

Before I declined the Director position, I had people in my corner encouraging me to accept that offer.  Part of me thought perhaps I was selling myself short by not getting out of my comfort zone and finding out my real potential.  While that may have been true, and I could have tapped into a new side of me, I knew in my heart of hearts that if I couldn’t take myself seriously in that position, how could I expect others to?

Wait a minute - perhaps that’s the real underlying issue!  Could it be that the problem isn’t with other people’s perception of me, but my perception of myself?  Hmm, I may be onto something with that idea, and I’m saving so much money by being my own therapist!  Seriously.  There, I said it. 

Tragedy in Waiting?

I've got a mind to wonder which tragedy is following me
I've got a mind that wanders off in search of something
And I'm gonna get there

-          “Tragedy in Waiting” by O.A.R. (Stories of a Stranger album)

Okay, let me put this disclaimer out – this post is likely going to be a bit melodramatic and, possibly, even a little morbid.  Now, without further ado….

I’ve had it pretty easy.  A loving family, great childhood, great education (paid for by my parents for 17 years), amazing friendships, a husband who loves me unconditionally, and two healthy and thriving children.  I’m blessed. Scratch that – I’m BEYOND blessed.  So, what’s wrong with that?  What’s wrong is I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, the ship to sail, blah, blah, blah.  Because I’ve “had it easy” the first 30 years of my life, I feel like there’s something nasty in store for me in the future.  Hey, I warned you this was going to be dramatic….

Before I became a stay-at-home mom, I worked full-time at a Catholic high school – my alma mater.  It’s a tradition that the seniors go on a retreat called Kairos, in the mountains in Santa Barbara for about 3-4 days.  It’s a time for them to be open and reflective about their lives, to become closer to themselves, God, and each other.  This is such an important time for these students and I truly believe the world would be a better place if all schools, public and private, offered this, or something similar, for students.  I digress.

I had the opportunity to attend two Kairos retreats as an “adult leader.”  The first year, I was merely an observer, the second year, I was a group leader which meant I had to give a talk.  Remember my post about the public speaking class I took?  Well, in my “adult age,” I found myself regressed and nervous to stand in front of about 30-40 teenagers and open myself up to them.  Beyond that, I felt as if I wasn’t qualified to even be there to begin with.  You see, many of these students opened up about experiences in their young lives that I cannot even imagine having to endure…abuse from family members, suicidal thoughts/attempts, coming out as a gay youth, etc., etc.  I hardly knew these kids, yet after listening to them pour out their hearts and souls, I knew more about them than their families and friends did.  With my cookie-cutter, goody-two-shoes upbringing, how could I even compete, or more importantly, relate to them?

It upset me to think that they had to experience such hardships in their young lives when I was still basically sailing through my life.  I felt guilty about coming from a “normal” family and having healthy relationships and being so naïve about the world and the people in it.  If I believed that God had a master plan for these kids – that there was an explanation for the trauma in their lives - then did that also mean that the reverse must be true for me?  That I would have an easy beginning and somehow, at sometime, be thrust into a situation that I would “grow” from?  I don’t know, and I really don’t like to think about it too much.  I’m content with living in my safe little bubble and counting my blessings each day, hoping and praying that my world won’t be shattered one day and if for some God-forsaken reason that should happen, that I would have the strength to get through it.  For now, I’ll just continue to live each day and keep my fingers crossed that God won’t notice that he forgot to give me a dose of “life experience.”  There, I said it. 

Grown Up

I think 2012 might actually be the year I become a grown up!  Well, maybe not completely become a grown up, but at least try to eat like one.  As I write this, I’m eating vegetable soup for lunch…not Kraft macaroni and cheese like my three year old daughter who actually asks to have vegetables with her meals.  That’s a pretty grown up thing to eat, right (the soup, not the mac ‘n cheese)? And, believe it or not, I’m actually eating the vegetables in the soup, not eating around them, or swallowing them whole so I don’t have to taste them, or only eating the noodles in the soup.  Stop the presses!

When we go out to eat, I get a little jealous of the fabulous choices on the kids’ menus – chicken fingers, mac ‘n cheese, grilled cheese sandwiches, pasta with butter sauce.  Mmmm, now we’re talking.  I sometimes make Abby order one of those items just so I can eat it without feeling silly for ordering from that menu.    

Confession: I had to take a break from writing this post in order to deal with a minor “potty issue” with my vegetable-eating daughter.  After cuddling with her on the couch, I decided what would really be nice for our cuddle session was a bowl of popcorn (the chemical infused microwaveable popcorn, of course) with extra melted butter and parmesan cheese on top, because, really, how else are you supposed to eat popcorn?  I really had to convince Miss Vegetables that she should eat some too, even though she didn’t want to because she was still traumatized from some popcorn getting stuck in her teeth the last time I made her eat it with me.  Needless to say, my half-eaten bowl of vegetable soup got dumped down the drain.  It looks like I won’t be eating like a grown up after all, at least not today.  There, I said it.

A Better Person

Way back before my husband was my husband, and up until probably our first couple of years of marriage, I always found the need to correct said husband’s grammar each time he spoke. It began as a random, knee-jerk reaction that soon turned into an addiction for me. It’s like I was hoping he’d misspeak so I could fix him. He would, understandably, get upset and accuse me of thinking he was an idiot. My response was that I was just trying to make him a better person. Seriously, I said that to him. I then followed up with a short rant about if I didn’t correct him, no one would and he would continue to make the same mistakes over and over again and possibly one day really embarrass himself when he finally discovered he was mispronouncing words, or using the word “why” when he really meant “while.” Boy, was he so lucky to have a girlfriend/wife who cared so much about his grammar.

All my attempts to make him a “better person” grammatically overshadowed the fact that he was already a great person and really didn’t need to be better. I became so nit-picky that I lost sight of the fact that he let me make him a “better person,” often in front of others and didn’t really complain about it, at least not much. Who does that? If the roles had been reversed, I think I would have been so mortified and probably would have cried (privately, of course) and yelled at him for humiliating me in front of my friends.

I don’t know why, but I stopped trying to make him a better person. I still correct him every now and then (okay, all the time), but I no longer tell him it’s because I’m making him better. He has accepted me for who I am so shouldn’t I do the same, grammatical errors and all? Of course I should, and I do, at least I really try to! After all, doesn’t that make me a better person? There, I said it.

Señor Fussypants

This is going to make me sound like an awful mother. But, I’ll say it anyway. I’m finally enjoying my son. Yikes. For awhile, I didn’t believe people who said they loved each of their children the same. They clearly must not have had a fussy child. His constant fussiness overshadowed his sweetness, his shy little smile that he didn’t just show to anyone. You really had to work for it, but I’ll be damned that when it appeared, it was worth it. Of course I loved him, but I was exhausted from dealing with his constant state of fuss that I found myself trying to keep him distracted…or sleeping so he’d be content and I could maintain an ounce of sanity.

I finally, recently, came to the realization that his fussiness was likely in part due to the fact that he doesn’t speak yet. After all, he’s only 14 months old. His way of communicating is yelling, usually at the top of his lungs. I seemed to be mistaking his method of communication with the constant fussiness I swore he was afflicted with. In my defense, if he wasn’t yelling, he was usually crying so the lines were blurry. The past couple of weeks he seemed especially fussy. I don’t know if it’s because his sister was on Christmas break from school so he had no relief from her (believe it or not, 3 hours a day, twice a week does make a difference!) or because he had been slightly sick with a cough and minor ear infection, or all of the above.

Last week, I took him to the doctor and she put him on an antibiotic for the ear infection and by God, he became almost like a whole new child! Yes, he still yells but since I’ve identified that as his language for now, I’ve learned to deal with it. Yes, he’s still fussy at times, but not nearly as much. He’s so much more playful and laughs and smiles so much more. And, get this, he finally started to WAVE! He plays peek-a-boo in a ridiculously cute way and is super enthusiastic about giving high fives. He brings books over to my husband and me and gets so excited about being read to! What the heck happened? More importantly, what’s the magic ingredient in the amoxicillin and can I keep him on it indefinitely?

I love him! Of course, I always loved him, but now I love him when he’s awake and look forward to playing with him. Could it be my little Señor Fussypants has finally outgrown the fussy baby stage and has begun to enter into the fun toddler stage? I think so, I hope so, I pray so. Because now I understand people who say they love their children all the same. There, I said it.