Fruit in my dessert

the right baskets...or, how i lost my mind at Ikea today

So, I've had a love/ambivalent relationship with Ikea over the years. Early on in my adult years, they helped me get quality furniture at a decent price. No one could really tell that the drawers and backs were made of cardboard, and it was sturdy stuff. And, I could put it together myself and feel my handy genes at work. I had a few pieces that lasted years (or until, after unbuilding and rebuilding a piece several times because of moves, B would say, "this is the last time we're putting this back together.") We were able to sell our remaining bookshelves and dressers when we moved last fall, and only have a couple of nightstands left from the original collection.

But, now, we have kids and toys, and a smaller space, and a need for creative storage that doesn't cost what an heirloom piece would. And, as you may recall, I have serious issues with clutter (not your clutter, mine), particularly during times of transition and stress. A long time ago, in an effort to prove to myself that I could spend money if it made sense, and it wouldn't kill me - I spent WAY too much money at the Container Store for a toy solution. I've regretted it ever since. As has H, since he's been injured more than once by the sharp edges of the pieces I got there.

Then, I became a fan of the EXPEDIT series at Ikea. I first saw it a friend's house in her son's room. ANd, didn't think for a million years that it could have been Ikea. And, I should have known better. She's a (clothing) designer and her husband's an architect. Their place has that effortlessly designed vibe and I love it. And they had stained the shelf to look even more awesome. Anyways, EXPEDIT comes in multiple sizes and colors, so when we moved last fall, I thought of a few places it would be good to put for H's toys. Except, it turns out it doesn't come in the sizes I want, and thus NEED. No amount of remeasuring or reconfiguring will change this fact (trust me, I've tried). But then, I realized we could get the smallest version of it for our bathroom. So, several months later, we finally did. And then we needed baskets for the shelves...ah, ha, ha, ha, ha. And that fact has cost me what I would approximate as a combined total of 27 days (not sequential). I have searched and searched for the right baskets for those shelves - and yes, I know Ikea has several options, but I didn't LOVE them, and most other places that have baskets, online and off, don't have them in the right size. By "right," I mean exactly what I want. And I know what I want. So I keep thinking that I'll find it. Well, today, after returning one option (where I actually built and installed a drawer and then uninstalled, un-built, and re-flat-packed said drawer), I went shopping in Ikea where I knew all of the product by heart, and had more than one self-contained breakdown, and at least three on the phone with B (that were potentially visible to other customers, including one in which I could not find my way to the right section. I had backtracked so many times that I couldn't remember if I was supposed to walk with or against the arrows and if the short cuts were actually going to get me to more BASKETS). After getting over (almost or temporarily) the shame and embarrassment of having a breakdown about baskets, I finally compromised (with myself) and got baskets that I don't love but I think we'll keep, mostly because I'm giving up. For now. Because I really want the BIGGEST version of the shelf for H's room...but that required too many other questions to be answered first, including the kids sharing a room and when, paint colors, bed sizes and configurations...you get the drift.

I will say, as much as I'm sure someone could psychoanalyze my clutter and choice issues to tell me what they are "really" about, and I have some ideas about that myself, I really think most of this is really about the baskets. Psychoanalyze that. I sure will.

A night off

It was a typical day of late followed by a magical evening that sort of just unfolded and I had the good sense (if I do say so myself) to recognize it and let it happen. L went down at 7 with a blowout and no bath. Don't worry, I wiped her up good, she was just wiped (hee hee) so I swaddled her up and put her down. H had taken a really long nap today because I fell asleep so he woke me up instead of the other way around. Oops. Usually I bath and bed them at the same time, but I decided to let him stay up "late." It had been an afternoon of me counting to three and giving him two choices and seemingly constant not-fun interaction, or rather me talking and him not responding, so I decided the evening would go another way. No choices for him to make, nothing "unfun" for him to do, just peaceful mommy and H time. If he wanted it, he got it (thank goodness he doesn't even know to ask for anything crazy yet). I even proactively offered him a treat - which we shared - after dinner - I know, crazy.

We Skyped with "the girls" and Auntie C, read some books, did bath. For the first time in a long time it was just me and him, him and me, doing our old routine together. We brushed teeth, read another book cuddled up on the couch, and then he didn't want to go to bed. This is a fairly new development because we have recently transitioned from sitting in the hallway outside his room while he goes to sleep (which started months ago as sitting next to his bed) to just putting him to bed and leaving - which means going a whole 10 feet down the hall to the couch or the dining room area. And, yes, he knows. So we've had many nights of him coming out several times, sometimes less, and being put back to bed. There's laughing (mostly on his part), crying, yelling, threatening, silence, all sorts of stuff on any given night. So, tonight, I decided we needed a night off from this too.

I carried my big boy into his room like he was my baby - because he still is. I danced with him in the dark and sang (sadly for him, even with all of his Music Together training, he still considers the noise coming out of my mouth "singing") and then sat on the chair with him in the dark with his head on my shoulder as his body got a bit tired and relaxed and then I put him in bed and sat by his bed and rubbed his back for a bit. He didn't utter a word for almost all of this time. It took a while and there's lots of stuff I could have been doing, and there's fear that I've backpedaled our "progress" on bedtime, but there's nothing I would have rather done tonight, and I dare say the same for him. He's still my baby and we both needed a night off from pretending he's not.

S***show

So, I'm pretty sure someone hacked my blog to write that last post about two not being harder than one. I mean, the sentiment is great, but it really feels like a s***show around here these days. I don't write posts like this often because I really, really don't want comments where people are all supportive and tell me it will get better and we're doing great, etc. Seriously, I don't. Ask my mom and my sister and my husband. I know all that already, but right now I'm tired and cranky and want to live in this moment.

I was having breakfast with a friend the other day - she also just had her second - and I was saying how I'm not being the mom I want to be right now and that's probably the hardest part of this. Not that H and I didn't have our tough days and moments before but we had our relationship down, our family of three, our individual and collective dynamics. And, well, now it's a s***show. I'm mourning the relationship I had with my son - I don't want to yell at him when he drops/throws his sister across the room. I don't want to tell him to stop turning the light switch on and off for the millionth time. I don't want to tell him to not go over to L's crib and try to wake her up from her nap. I don't want him to cry to me because HE wanted to get the wipes for me and I already had them in my hand. I know much of this is two and a half year old behavior without the baby sister part, but it does feel quite amplified. I want all the fabulous moments. I'll keep the ones where he kisses L all over and tells me that he loves her, or when he wakes up from a nap all tired and cute and puts his head down on her chest to rest a little bit more and snuggle with her. Or when he says, "I want L to come over and read the story with us." Or when he shows her a postcard of AMNH and says, "L, that's OUR museum." Or when he sees something and says, "L, did you see that?" I know, just like with one, and with everything else, you can't pick and choose which parts you want, but why not already?

I'm also mourning my relationship with my husband. We went through this the first time too, a period of unrest, needing to find our way again, our new normal. But like everything else right now, it just feels amplified. I think I'm also less patient - like yeah, yeah, I know we need to go through this, but can we move on already?

The same friend I went to breakfast with the other day told me about an analogy that her husband's best friend (who already has two) shared with her husband when he asked what he could do to not make her "hate" him right now. The more experienced father of two said (and I'm paraphrasing here), "You're like the president of BP, your kids are the oil, and your wife is the Louisiana coast line. Your kids are spilling out all over the place and severely damaging your wife, and there's nothing you can say or do to make it better." This made my day for several reasons: 1. it's so true, 2. it's so timely, and 3. it's so true. Hopefully, we, our husbands, and the Louisiana coastline* will all recover as quickly as possible.

I'd be remiss if I didn't say how much I am loving L. She's so damn awesome. She smiles at me - and other people too, and laughs, and watches and listens to everything her brother does. I really think she loves him already. She goes along for the ride, wherever it takes us, and is being very cooperative at night. Like her mom, she lets me know IMMEDIATELY when there's a problem and I do my best to solve it as quickly as possible. I go between wanting her to get older faster so I can discover more about her and how the family and sibling dynamics will work themselves out, and wanting her to be this cute little age forever. I could do without the blowouts though...and there, we've come full circle. It's all a s***show.

*And, no, I am not really trying to say that what we are going through is the same as the death and horrific devastation caused by the BP oil spill.

Two is not harder than one

Context is everything. When I was pregnant with my second child only eight and a half weeks ago, many people we know (and some we don't) who have two or more children, particularly those who've had their second child in the last couple of years, would say to us how much harder it was going to be for us to have two children rather than one. One person I barely know actually said to me, "you're in for a whole new world of hurt." Seriously? Even if that is true, how is that remotely helpful? Well, 2 months in to the "madness", I disagree. Two is not harder than one.

With the context of knowing what one was like, and having just had one child for the last two and a half years, well, sure, that seems easier - now. It was not easy eight and a half weeks ago. Or for the two and a half years before that. It was really hard, exhausting in fact. I loved most of it, but it was work - a lot of work - all the time. So, sure, now that I have two, some days (today being one of them) I want to bang my head against a wall, or even a soft pillow, and I look back at my very recent days of having one, and think of them as somehow easier, less complicated. But they weren't. And, in some ways, they were harder. What I mean is, "Two is not harder than one WAS," even though, "Two seems harder than one IS."

This jibberish makes me think of that phrase that some of my religiously inclined friends and family like: "God only gives you what you can handle." While I don't believe that entirely, in part because I'm not sure what I believe about God, and even if I do believe in a higher power, he/she/it has definitely missed the mark on giving some people I know what they can handle...or maybe it's the walking in someone else's shoes phrase...never mind. Neither of these are fitting here.

My point is, one was hard and glorious, two is difficult and wonderful. However many you have or don't have, I think you (in the spirit of the World Cup) Just Do It. Great - I meant to be profound and I quoted Nike.

Letting go

Today, Henry and I went to the playground - a newer one for us, a bit quieter and smaller than our usual hangouts. Lucy came too, but she isn't quite ready to "play." We started out doing bubbles, just the two of us, an activity that can make me anxious because I get nervous the whole playground will swarm us and I'll wind up in charge of navigating a whole bunch of kids trying to get at my kid's bubbles and madness will inevitably ensue (even though we always bring extra bubble makers). But, the kids on this playground were way too involved in a seemingly complicated game of tag involving children ages 2-8 who were quite impressively, if not a bit aggressively, playing with each other. One little girl came over to play with us - she was about 5 - and I had no trouble navigating the sharing that went on there. She was quite kind to Henry for the most part. I only once had to remind her that they were his bubbles so she might not want to grab the whole thing away from him like that. At one point she told me, "this is stressful," because she couldn't get a bubble to form in her bubble maker. I'm pretty sure I didn't know the word stressful at five. But that's a post for another day.

Anyways, part of my concern when other kids come to "share" Henry's stuff is that it will stress him out or he won't enjoy himself as much as he would on his own, that it will be scary to navigate the situation - projecting, anyone? When the sharing of the bubble tray was getting too much for him (I think) and his bubbles weren't working as well as hers (I mean, she's 5 after all), he decided to chase around after the bubbles she was making instead. Nice. After a while, the little girl got bored with the bubbles and ran off to rejoin the game on the playground. And, Henry went too.

My first inclination was to follow him, as we are usually pretty close by, if not directly underneath him, when he's climbing up things that are taller than he is. But I noticed none of the other caregivers were at the play structure, and there were kids seemingly his age running around unattended. It was a "little kid" play structure, and they all seemed to be playing well, big kids minding where the little kids were, etc. so I stayed back - a whole 15-20 feet. Lucy started crying so I picked her up out of the stroller and walked with her and kept an eye on Henry as he jumped and climbed and watched the kids play. He followed the little girl a bit - who was a big girl to him. He was sort of trying to insert himself in their play - the first time I think he's ever done that with big kids that he didn't know at all. At one point, as he jumped from thing to thing on the play structure, I asked him if he wanted me to help him (last time we were here, he had asked for my help) and he yelled back to me, "I no need help." The child development person in me was so proud of what she was seeing, while the mommy - or "momma" as he's retaken to calling me lately, was verklempt - and is a bit teary as she writes this, too.

We stayed for a while longer, he came to me to get a head rub briefly after the girl he was following kicked him in the head. I think it was an accident, but she didn't seem too concerned. (Side note: her caregiver mentioned something to the effect of "get in line" when I mentioned my son was following her...yikes.) He even asked me to ask her and his "friends" to play with him at one point toward the end. I know I have a new baby, but where has my baby gone?!!? He must have known I was getting misty though, because right before we left, he asked for my help to hop one more time from thing to thing. Thanks, H.

By the way, while I have your attention, tonight's episode of Friday Night Lights was called, "Stay," and it's all about letting go. Watch it - tonight, and every week. It's the best show ever.

high school graduation

Maybe it's because I'm attempting to plan a 15-year high school reunion that this is the analogy that comes to mind, but what I'm really talking about is the moments that are left for our family of three to be a family of three. I could not be more excited to become a family of four, about the unknowns, the adventures ahead, the relationships that will blossom within our family, between our children, the bonds that will form. Heck, I'm even excited for the fights and the chaos that will ensue at times. But, it's bittersweet too. It's been a hell of a two point four years as a family of three. We've had such a blast and could not be more in love with each other. I look back with so much joy at all of it: the good, the bad, and the ugly, though most of it, like 99.9%, has just been amazing.

I feel like it's the end of August before everyone left for their different post-high school destinations. Every night in a parking lot we'd gather to wish someone else well on their journey, give hugs, contact information, last notes and letters reminding each other of all the memories we shared. For the last couple of weeks, and even more in the last couple of days, I think as we squeeze into the bathroom for bath time, or sit at the table eating dinner, or play ball for the seventh hour in a row in the living room or at the playground, that this could be the last time, the last time we do it as a family of three, in this way, and well, I know it's going to get even better, but it also makes me a bit verklempt. I'm going to miss this, just like, sometimes, I still miss high school.

nothing to do with math

Seriously? I frequently read articles that make me upset or make me want to at least write a blog post, but then, more often than not, I don't write something, mostly because I'm afraid of sounding like the opinionated, judgmental person that I am, and it would take too long to write something that sounds well written and well thought out, and even though only two people read this blog, I want to sound good, and I don't want to be judged back. Well, today, I'm writing.

Yesterday, the New York Times had an article in the Sunday Style section (perhaps the only plus I'll give it is that it was in the Styles section), called The New Math on Campus: When women outnumber men at a college, dating culture is skewed. The source of this problem, it seems, is simple: "women tend to have higher grades; men tend to drop out in disproportionate numbers; and female enrollment skews higher among older students, low-income students, and black and Hispanic students." And kudos to the (male) reporter of the story for so respectfully recognizing the upside to this for a moment: "In terms of academic advancement, this is hardly the worst news for women — hoist a mug for female achievement. And certainly, women are primarily in college not because they are looking for men, but because they want to earn a degree." But, at least for the women in this article, that last statement doesn't appear to hold true.

The article goes on to quote young women, academically successful women, stating obvious things like how, in addition to outnumbering the men, so many of the men available are not worthy, so the pool from which to choose is actually even smaller than it seems. The following quote was the clincher for me:

“A lot of my friends will meet someone and go home for the night and just hope for the best the next morning,” Ms. Lynch said. “They’ll text them and say: ‘I had a great time. Want to hang out next week?’ And they don’t respond.”

Even worse, “Girls feel pressured to do more than they’re comfortable with, to lock it down,” Ms. Lynch said.

As for a man’s cheating, “that’s a thing that girls let slide, because you have to,” said Emily Kennard, a junior at North Carolina. “If you don’t let it slide, you don’t have a boyfriend.”

Really? Are we still here? Are we still, as a species, more worried about finding the right guy - at the young age of 18 - and so fearful that we won't that we're willing to be quoted in the New York Times saying things like this? Is this only a Western idea? And can we really blame men for keeping us down and holding us back and keeping that glass ceiling in place when we take something like being the majority of college educated people in this country and turn it into a weakness? Are most women still going to college with the ultimate goal of finding their husband and not getting an education and a degree? Can we draw a line between these attitudes and a future generation of embarrassed wives a la Sanford, Edwards, Woods, and countless, nameless others? Or is that going too far? When and how are we going to teach women to respect and worry about themselves as much as and more than the way we do about men and the love and affection we may or may not receive from them?

I know my questions aren't all really questions, but it's the only way I could get some of this out without losing my mind. And I am fully aware that in today's world I am considered one of the very luckiest of women, with a husband (who I did not meet in college) who makes the self-respect thing easier than most, with a family (his and mine) who (mostly) consider us equals, and support our "shared parenting" lifestyle, but when is that not going to be considered lucky?

I'm going to go do my best to do my part...raising a white male to know and understand that he is going to be given privileges because of his race and his gender for the rest of his life, but he must know why and to do his part to make that not the future for his kids or theirs. And, if #2 is a girl, the work will likely be harder, but I'll start by hoping she never feels compelled to be part of (or worse, write) an article like this.

fuzzy math

1. Me = too hard on Me

2. B = too hard on B

3. Me = too hard on B

4. B = NOT hard on Me

Would like to solve all four equations, but trying to change #4 to look more like #3 has proved wholly ineffective. I really need to figure out the key to changing the #3 (and #2 and #1, and yes, in that order) so they all look like #4. Luckily, I don't think H figures (directly) into these equations yet.

And, for the record, this post has been in my head for a long time. This is not a current current event.

not to brag

I don't want to make anyone jealous or jinx myself, but tonight was the second night in a row that H allowed me to participate in story time before bed. He almost cuddled up next to me on the couch this morning while we "read" his Playmobil catalog together too.

Overanalyzer that I am, I'm trying to figure out why and to what I can attribute this behavior. Was it the extra work hours I put in this week that kept me away from him for more time than usuaul? The pre-preschool switch in the routine? I might attribute tonight to the fact that - for the first time ever - I bought him a book in the store just because he asked for it...for no reason or occasion, and even though I knew it was way more money there than online or in the library. Someone left a children's book on top of the adult paperbacks near the front of the store and it happened to have H's name in the title, so I picked it up and read it to myself and thought it was lovely. H then asked that I read it to him and he sat rapt with attention, not forcing me to turn the pages more quickly or grabbing the book for himself or even moving at all. And, then when I finished, he asked me to read it again. It was time to go, I said (we were on our way out when the book caught my eye in the first place). And, then, I don't know what came over me, but I said, "do you want to buy this book?" At first, he looked at me with a very confused expression, and a moment later, "I want to buy it." After asking B if that was a dumb idea and him saying probably (because he knows how I feel about these things, not because of his own opinion on the matter), and H saying again, "I want to buy it," this time with a bit more insistence, I walked us over to the cashier and bought the book and handed it to H. After saying "please," to mean thank you and then saying, "thank you," he said, "I hold the book," very proudly, and it was all worth it. And I've almost convinced myself that it was okay to buy a 2-year-old a book that is essentially about a boy liking a girl in his class. At least, for now, H likes me enough to let me read it to him.

Bandaid ripping

So H and B survived H's first day of preschool. They encouraged B to stay in the room (along with parents and caregivers of the other new kids in the class) and I think it may have had the opposite of the intended effect. H knew B was there and obviously wanted to play with his BFF, so B wound up staying in there the whole time, engaging, not engaging, explaining, and trying to get H to engage with the rest of the class.

There was also a sock incident. In this facility, it's no shoes allowed (super plush carpet in the gym and nice padded wood flooring in the classroom), which I love, but it is also a no sock facility (which I don't) to prevent kids from slipping. During the early part of class when B was in the room but on the side, one of the teachers attempted to take H's socks off and it was the straw that broke H for the remainder of the session. And it nearly killed B to watch the sadness that ensued, as short lived as it may have been. My poor boys. They were both definitely exhausted by the end of the two hours, perhaps B more so than H. Other parents had been able to leave, while some were in and out (potentially even more confusing for the children), but it was a mixed bag of a day. Lucky for them both, B took them to a diner for grilled cheeses to recover before nap time.

When H and I talked about it later, he said "I go to school today. My daddy stay in there." He knew that was not the goal, but seemed to be perfectly okay with it.

Having the benefit of B's experience behind me, when I took H on Thursday, in addition to all the talk in the morning about how it was going to go and how mommy was going to wait outside in case he needed me, I decided that if they would let me, we would do the rip-the-Bandaid-off version of separation instead. And lucky for me, this was actually the plan for day 2. All the caregivers that were in the room at the start of class were asked to leave about 10 minutes in. H had started playing at a table with me about 3 feet away and reached out to me as if his feet (in facility-approved/suggested slippers) were glued to the floor but he needed to touch me. Minutes later he was between my legs. I alternated between telling him the plan and giving him encouragement to play with comforting him by just sitting there with him.

At 10 minutes, someone came over, I said my brief goodbyes and they peeled him out of my arms crying. There were a good four or five kids doing the same. We went out in the waiting area and, well, we waited. A few minutes later, another mom came out (she had arrived late) and said no one was crying anymore. About 5 or 6 times during the two hours, either a mom who had gone in to check or one of the teachers would come out and give an update and by all accounts, H was engaged, playing, even "doing perfect" by one mom's account. I got the thumbs up later from another teacher during a transition. I was relieved and proud (which felt weird to be, but I was).

The bonus to the day was meeting a new potential mommy friend, whose son was also having some anxiety, as was she. She's expecting her second as well and we even share an OB. Did I mention she works in early childhood so we got to talk about all of our strong opinions about what these programs should and should not look like and she told me of another quite reputable program from which she and another mother there had pulled their kids a few weeks earlier.

At the end of the two hours, we went in to the little pick-up/transition area and the kids came out to see us. H was happy to see me, but I wouldn't say he was over the top about it. He told me how he went on the bars (in the gym) and then after about 30 seconds, got down and went over to play with some trucks. I spoke with two of the teachers (they initiated - how nice) who told me some specifics of the day's activities and how well H did in terms of being engaged with the class the whole time - even more engaged than he had been during the semester where the parents were there the whole time. Rock on, H!

I actually had to coax him into getting ready to leave, and as we were putting coats on, he suggested that "Mommy go out there" as he pointed out the window, and I think he intended to stay. I left feeling good about the program, good about H being ready for it, excited to meet a potential friend, and thinking that maybe I could get things done during those two hours every week - even if that meant successfully eating a pain au chocolat and hot chocolate while reading...hmmm.

We "tour" (with H) the one preschool we have applied to for the fall, on Monday. Stay tuned.