Fruit in my dessert

Spilt Milk

I have been working very hard over the last three and a half years, and about seventeen times harder than that in the last fifteen months, to outwardly process my anger, disappointment, and frustration with daily, mostly motherhood related occurrences that I find less than desirable without screaming, swearing, stomping, throwing or otherwise acting like a young child who does not yet have the words and tools and brain to do the same. I have been working so hard primarily because my children are usually present and oftentimes their actions or inactions or existence are the direct or indirect cause of said anger, disappointment, and frustration (we will save the guilt about this for another post). While there have definitely been momentary spikes in my inability to do this well since adding a second child to the mix, I would argue (but not loudly) that I have been quite successful in my attempts to show less frustration than I feel most of the time - or rather to show my frustration in more constructive or creative and less dramatic ways than I otherwise would. 

Just yesterday, at dinner, H spilled his milk all over me, the table, and the floor after a long weekend of traveling and family separation. We were ALL exhausted. It was an accident. As soon as it happened, he looked at me, perhaps B and L did too. I'm pretty sure they weren't sure how I would react (and yes, I know many of the reasons and ramifications; see paragraph one). I looked at myself. I took a breath. I laughed a little. I got a towel. It was bath time.

In our house, at least for me, life is what happens in the moment between when the milk spills and I open my mouth. I hope I can keep remembering that in the moment, and with different and bigger things than milk.

I'm a writer!

It's official. I'm official - meaning I have written something that someone else has placed on their blog. I have my first guest post, entitled To Squeeze or Not To Squeeze, about the squeezy fruit and vegetable pouches for babies and young children, up on the Shaping Youth blog. There is an intro to the post by Amy Jussel (see below) along with the post and a nice introduction of me. Please check it out and comment there or here to let me know what you think.

Shaping Youth is a forum on media and marketing's influence on kids and was founded and is run by Amy Jussel. Amy is a pioneer and leader in the world of "using the power of media for positive change" (Shaping Youth's tagline). I hope to continue to write for Shaping Youth on topics affecting young children.

Your secret

My sister shared this with me months ago and I JUST watched it. As she wrote, it's "so peacful and fun." I also found the interplay of male/female images and voice intriguing. Was one or the other the intended audience? Of course, by the end, I was also agitated, because I think the world would be a better place if we (and I must admit, I was thinking of "we" as females) stopped keeping all of our wonderful ideas secrets...but that says more about me than the film, and some might say, I've just missed the whole point. Ignore me and keep the peaceful and fun idea in your mind instead. Thanks for sharing, CD. Inspiring to say the least.

Proof of Purchase

So, since forever (or more accurately since my high school trip to Europe for which my parents got me a credit card - a silver Citibank Visa to be more specific - at the suggestion of the trip chaperones to facilitate purchases with foreign currencies at better rates), I have tracked all my credit card spending. What this has meant is saving every receipt for every purchase I have ever made on a credit card and cross checking it with the statement that comes each month. I think my mom taught me to do this, more by osmosis than anything else. She was always "doing money." In the beginning, I found this quite a nice activity. It made me feel good; it fed my need for order, being right, being organized, and was yet another way to document my life. For several years, I also stapled all the receipts to the back of the monthly statement and put them in a folder. And for years, when I had few credit card expenses, and no points to earn, this amounted to 5-10 purchases a month. Easy.

Then I starting making a little bit more money. Then I got married and got a card for my husband, Brian, and me associated with points for frequent flier miles, hotel stays, etc. It got us a big discount on our lame honeymoon. Then I started to try to purchase everything on the card to aquire the most amount of points possible. Then I did things like buy more groceries, get a gym membership, become a regular newspaper subscriber, have medical expenses, graduate school, dinners out, and occasional $4 cups of coffee. Brian had the card too now so both of our purchases were on there. It was way more than 5-10 purchases a month. It was closer to 100. Cash was becoming irrelevant for most things in my world. And I loved that our card - now a Starwood American Express - sent me breakdowns of my spending by category, making even more tracking possible.

Somewhere in the middle of our second or third year of marriage - we had recently purchased our first home - I had a panic attack about the tracking I was doing every month. It was taking a full day to do. Brian did not have the same need to track - he literally had a need NOT to track - expenses the way I did. I felt like I was wasting my time but I couldn't stop myself. Online purchases sent me over the edge. I would go through my email and print out receipts and harass Brian for all of his. He was also traveling extensively for work and before we got smart and put those trips on a separate card altogether, they were all mixed up everywhere. I feel anxious just writing about it. I knew not everyone tracked things at this level, but I thought they should. Shouldn't they? I certaintly knew that Brian's laissez faire attitude of just skimming over the statement every month couldn't be right, could it? I had found mistakes before - a few cents here, a few dollars there, a wrong charge altogether. But was it worth it? I didn't know.

And then came the children. And monthly checking became bi-annual checking which meant DAYS of going through receipts. Then came, and I'm ashamed to admit it, a few MISSED payments because I literally forgot to pay them. I'd never been so un-on top of the administration of my life. It was shocking to me (though apparently not to other new moms or former new moms who thought I wasn't above these kinds of mistakes, harumph!). Then follow up calls to the credit card to remove the fee for being late: "I've never been late, except for that time two years ago when I was late paying you after the birth of my FIRST child." Shouldn't there be some kind of exception for mothers of babies? They made them for me at least. But I didn't. I was mortified. I finally put auto pay into effect on every account.

I continued tracking but started to loosen the reins the tiniest bit. The first big step was getting rid of receipts after I cross-checked them with the statement. This may not have saved any time but it certainly tidied up the file drawer and it made me feel good to throw things away. Then, I started to not "need" every receipt. I'd let things slide - a lunch here, a tax ride there. "Sure, that looks right," I'd say, acting for myself. "That amount sounds okay." I wasn't completely comfortable with it but I forged ahead. I started to consider the value of my time over the value of finding what would likely be no or very few small errors. When I was getting paid to work, this kind of attention to this kind of detail would not have been worth my hourly rate at least.

So, last month, I discussed my "issue" briefly with my therapist, oh, and more importantly, talked with one of my BFFs who feels similarly about money. Even she doesn't cross-check receipts and pointed me to Mint*. I signed up for Mint (and downloaded the free iPhone app too) and stopped saving receipts altogether. I don't ask for them, don't keep them, don't want them - except of course for major purchases or for things that I know might need to be returned, or donations to charity, or, no, I think that's it, really. I announced it to Brian and expected him to throw a party in my honor to celebrate but I don't think he believed me right away. It's been pretty freeing so far. I spend a few minutes each week checking my purchases on Mint, and that's it. Now I have time for more important things, like writing really long blog posts about receipts.

*This is not a paid advertisement for Mint. I don't know anyone there and they don't know me. I'm just pretty excited about what they're helping me do - for free, in terms of tracking all my money, debt, goals, budget, etc. and helping me allow myself to be free of receipts.

Bend over

My therapist recently told me that I spent a lot of my time in "What If" rather than "What Is" and I wholeheartedly agree with her assessment. This, as you might imagine, leads to all sorts of anxiety that other people may find unnecessary. However, as a mother of young children, I am continually surprised about the literal and figurative positions in which I find myself, positions that even I, with my ability to come up with and prepare for seemingly endless potential situations and scenarios, could not have dreamed up.

Last week, L needed to get an echocardiogram (we have since found out she is 100% healthy). I, of course, was anxious about this, but also a little bit experienced. She had had an abdominal ultrasound a couple of months ago so i knew what to expect - crying. It's not painful, but she's 11 months old and it takes a while to do, so even a curious kid like her, who usually watches her own medical exams with interest (as she did with her EKG), gets frustrated, uncomfortable, and likely scared and angry (she's my child). After several minutes of me holding her down on the exam table as the cardiologist worked quickly and adeptly to take hundreds of pictures of her small little insides with a small little baby sized wand, she started screaming. Nothing I said or did was helping her to calm down. The doctor mentioned I could give her a bottle. I didn't have a bottle or anything else with me. I hadn't expected to be there for so long. But, I had my boobs. It had been nearly three days since I fed her this way because we are in the process of saying goodbye to breastfeeding. But she was sad, and she's a baby, and I was sad for her, and my breasts were uncomfortable to the point I was considering pumping later that day to prevent mastitis (something I had with H that was worse than any pain I've ever experienced - including childbirth and recovery, both ways). So, I lifted my shirt, leaned over her on the table, bracing myself with my elbows on either side of her head and the top of my head resting on the table above her head, and fed her. Her crying and squirming quickly subsided, she relaxed, I relaxed, and the doctor got all the pictures she needed. It was a proud, if awkward, moment for me. One that I could have never imagined, which always impresses me.

Conversation with a Three-Year-Old (or Crazy Town)*

Me: H, you don't have school tomorrow. Would you like to have a friend over for a play date?

H: Yes.

Me: Who?

H: Bob. We still haven't had a play date with Bob yet.

Me: Okay, let me email Bob's parents and see if he is available.

H: Okay.

[I emailed Bob's parents and confirmed the play date for the following morning.]

One hour later.

Me: Okay, Bob is going to come over tomorrow morning to play.

H: Why?

*Please note, I believe that it is because I am fully aware of the developmental appropriateness of this conversation (from H's side anyway) that it makes me feel a little crazy. This is not just an anecdote, but a representative sample.

Announcing Shiny Object Syndrome

Some of my regular visitors may have noticed a new link on the home page of Fruit in my dessert. Shiny Object Syndrome is a new section of the blog where I will review products. As it says there, I often get asked for recommendations on baby and kid products...and I also give them when I don't get asked. As my friends know, I'm the girl who spends hours researching before making a purchase. Many times that research pays off. Sometimes it doesn't. Shiny Object Syndrome is what I have to say about a lot of products so far...and there's a lot more coming. I've also made simple categories so you can search the archives a few different ways:

• not necessary, basics, if you can splurge, worth every penny
• baby, young child

Let me know what you think! I also hope to add a children's book review section soon!

Too much and not enough

Moments of madness strip me of the fantasy that I am meant to do this, even in the short term. Moments of yelling, screaming, and fully “losing it,” shout at me that I do not want this to be my full time job. I am angry that maybe for the first time I’ve found a job that I can’t do well. This is not to say that I don’t think that I’m the best mother that ever lived. I know what my kids need and want in a way no one else can or will. I will forever be – or hope to be - their primary place of comfort, acceptance, love, and understanding. At least until they are able, hopefully, to find a partner like I did to take on that role for them (because of course I have set them up well to do so). I know I don’t have this level of control over their lives, but I’m still working on actually acting like I believe that. I think I needed them to be my only purpose for a bit. I thought that bit would last longer. But I don’t think they can be my only purpose any longer. They are three and almost one and I’m ready to figure out who I am again – without them. It’s time - for them and for me – to figure out what’s next. Maybe some of that will be writing about them and my experience as their mother, in the least exploitative way possible, so I can make sense of my experience, and hopefully help others with similar experiences along the way. A happy mom makes a happy family. It has always sounded so trite to me (so many mommy sayings do). I now say that because I know it, not because I pretend to think it’s true. I love them more than life. But they’re not going to know that enough if I’m with them all of the time – and seem frustrated or thwarted or downright angry. And neither am I. I love myself too. And this is one of the ways I can make sure I – and they – know it. [Gulp] [Jump]

In Case I Forget

Tonight's bedtime was a bit challenging because L has entered the stage where she'd rather crawl and stand and throw things out of her crib than go to sleep. She shares a room with H so if her shenanigans - which include throwing her pacifier out of the crib, or lowering her hand down outside of the crib and actually chucking it under the crib making its retrieval a bit more challenging...in the dark - continue past H's alotted reading time, it can get a bit dicey. I'd like to let her work it out a bit for herself - once I know she's all set up with the things she needs - but I don't want to mess with his sleep either. So tonight, when she couldn't seem to calm herself, I sat on the floor between their beds and H suggested I tell her a story about George in the jungle, which I started to do and then we switched to singing. He not only laid there and sang with me (after me asking him to stop "reading" his book so loudly several times), but gave suggestions for songs..."Let's do Twinkle Little Star." She quieted down, laid down, and I left the room imagining them both drifting off to sleep.

Less than two minutes later, H called out, "Mom, I need the fuzzy blankie," which means he needs me to tuck him in, which pre-room sharing wouldn't have caused the reaction it did. I was a bit furious because him yelling out to me woke her up and started the whole process over again. While I know he knows this in theory, and he occasionally does things like this to stir the pot, I'm pretty sure this was a genuine case of him being three and not even thinking twice about calling for his mom to tuck him back in.

As we started to sing her back down again, he suggested a new song about trains that I wasn't familiar with. It turns out he was making it up as he went along. He said, "First you have to say the words, then you sing them." This was particularly helpful since he was teaching me the song as we went. "The train is going down the track. It's the 5 train. There are only 2 passengers in the station. So the train picked the 2 passengers up." There was a chorus and everything.

After this, and some meds (for Lucy), because I finally decided maybe her teeth were bothering her too, all went quiet on the western front.

When I imagined my children sharing a room, it was mostly because I thought it would be fun (overall), give them even more opportunity to bond with each other, and because I had enjoyed sharing a room with my sister so much when we were young. What I didn't imagine is how helpful it would be to me. Granted, there are blips where they wake each other up, but when I picture the scenario of L crying and fussing in her own room and me dealing with it on my own without the calm, self assured patience of my three year old singing and working through it with me ("she's not going to sleep. what do you think we should do?" "L, go to sleep." "L, lay down.") and the near game quality of it all, I became much less stressed, much more relaxed, and actually enjoyed some moments in the midst of it. Bonus: he got to feel helpful too!

So in case I forget later, thanks, H. You're my best boy.

disclosure

If I ever say to you, "I'm sorry, I just wasn't thinking," I'm lying. I am very likely sorry, but I WAS thinking. I forget things, yes, and a lot more now than before my short term memory was snatched by babies, but I'm ALWAYS thinking, usually too much, about things that don't require me to think as much as I do. Anyways, I thought you should know.