Friday, February 26, 2010

Conversations in the Car

At night, after work, after pick ups, after school, after the babysitter, after random errands, we finally head home. I used to sing in the car, but Brynna hates it when I sing, and she starts screaming and then Maren screams because Brynna is screaming and my head just can’t take it.

I want to converse in the car. I want to share our days, play car games, practice reading the road signs. But I just can’t. We do those things in the mornings, on Saturdays. But at the end of the day my head throbs with the stress and aching longing of a day slipped by. I need the peace that quiet travel brings. I’ve always loved to drive and in the afternoons, I take solace in the whirring of the wheels, the rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers, the hum of the radio, the vibrating wheel clutched in my hands.

But my girls. They still converse. I am like the shoreline, craggy and rocky and rough. Their chitchat is like the ocean, washing slowly back and forth over me. Many things they say come and go and don’t leave a lasting impression. Become part of the whirring sound in my head.

But like the tide, there are treasures that remain. Some are only special to me. “Mommy, Autumn’s shirt today was wicked cool,” “Maren, hold my hand, it’s going to get scary in this story.” “Hey, it’s Queen, turn it up!” Like a slightly purple piece of sea glass, worthless, yet worthy to me.

Some would be treasures for anyone to behold. “But wait! There’s more!” “As you well know, air is the enemy of freshness.” “I want strawberry muffins. Blueberry muffins are soooo ten minutes ago.”

At the end of the drive, pulling up in front of my house, I find myself, just like the shore when the tide goes out, smoothed by them. Though I didn’t participate much in the conversation, I find myself refreshed by it, rejuvenated by the white noise of their happiness, fears, laughter, tears. Their not-so-special and day-to-day is lifeblood to me.

When we first moved to the smallest town in the world, my mom admonished me to use that time in the car wisely.

“Brynna’s a captured audience when you are in the car for so long everyday. You can really teach her stuff, work on school things, sing, play games. You can really use that to your advantage.”
I used to feel guilty every time I pulled onto our street and realized I hadn’t done any of those things. It seemed unconscionable to waste such precious time and opportunity.

And maybe it is, but the truth is that I need to just listen for that period of time. Right now, it’s mostly Brynna, but it won’t be long before Maren is joining in with news of her day. And then the conversation will turn to school and books and movies and friends. Gossip will be exchanged and music will be analyzed. They will begin to have an opinion on the radio station. Brynna won’t jump up and down about Queen anymore. Maren won’t squeal with delight every time Janis screams to just take it. But if I can just keep listening, I might hear all the things they want me to know. Even the things that they don’t want to tell me.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Self Loathing in Las Vegas

So, have you heard of impostor syndrome? I hadn't either until this week and suddenly it's everywhere. Basically, impostor syndrome is when people believe they are less qualified, talented, educated, experienced than they really are.

News flash: Lots of women suffer from impostor syndrome.

Okay, so I had no idea what this was until this week, but I could have told you within two seconds of reading the definition that most women I know are like this. So, now everyone's talking about it.

Forbes wants you to know that it can hurt your business. Sufferers are less willing to take chances, make qualifying statements when they speak and generally don't portray themselves as "experts" even when they are.

God's Politics Blog wants you to know that it's damaging to the church and to your relationship with God to not live up to your God-given gifts and embrace your talents.

Lots of women bloggers want you to know that it's just another form of societally approved self-loathing.

Everyone seems to be shocked and amazed by this new development. SHOCK! AWE!

But to me, this doesn't change anything. Certain people, especially women, have always been less than willing to toot their own horn. We are, in fact, taught not to. We are trained that it's good to be quietly competent, kind to others and humble. We are taught that it's rude to tell others that you know more than they and that it's cruel to show someone up.

And then, we are taught that the only way to succeed is to "sell" yourself. Our resume writing, our interview suits, our "networking" is all about sales. Selling yourself as the best, bar none.

Is it any wonder, then, that these ideals conflict and cause us to believe that the sale is just pitch and the truth is the humble mumbling that we do after we land the job?

I do this. I'll admit it. My boss does not. And she doesn't really understand it. Sometimes, she'll ask me a question, say "What color is the sky?" I'll respond, "Well, it's my understanding that the sky is blue." Her response is to look at me like my head's on fire and respond, "Well. Do you think you could research it and find out for sure." Now, because I very well know that the sky is blue, I wait for ten minutes and then walk into her office where I will say, "Yep, the sky is, in fact, blue."

Why can't I just say that the sky is blue without adding in the my understanding crap? And then, when it's obvious that my boss-lady thinks that means that I don't know what I'm talking about, can't I just say, "What I mean is that the sky is blue. I know that's true."

Why? Because I don't want to make her uncomfortable. And she is the boss and I shouldn't know more than she does. Never mind that she's asking me because she thinks I might know. Never mind that she wouldn't be shocked and appalled if I knew more than she did. Never mind that it's sometimes my job to know more about certain subjects than she does. I don't want her to feel bad. So, I qualify my statement and claim to know less than I do.

So, what can we learn about this?

I don't really know. I don't think the problem is self-loathing, though. At least not for me. And I would imagine not for everyone or even the majority. I think the problem is the incredible disconnect between the way we are trained to act in society and the way we are expected to behave in the workforce. I think the problem is the way we want to have our cake and eat it too.

We want people to be nice and ruthless. Kind and fearless. Humble and confident. Our failures are usually a case of not being able to play the right part at the right time.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Randomness

I'm really sleepy, but I didn't ever get around to posting my crochet bag yesterday, so I really don't want to skip. I hear that there's this thing called Random Tuesdays which cracks me up because isn't blogging all about being random pretty much all the time. Maybe I'm doing it wrong, I don't know, but here's some randomness in the ultimate lazy blogging method: lists!

5 Things I Wish I Had Right Now
1. Jacuzzi tub
2. 2nd bathroom
3. Paraffin hand lotion
4. Something to wear to work tomorrow
5. Sanity

4 Things My Kid Does to Make Herself Seem Older than She Is
1. Says, "just so you know"
2. Says, "As you well know..."
3. Says, "My work is important to me."
4. Willingly goes to bed on time.

3 Things That Have Annoyed Me Today
1. My husband always goes to the bathroom when I have to pee.
2. I have the thermostat set to get colder at night (apparently it makes kids sleep better) and I freeze right before bed.
3. Shampoo is way expensive

2 Things I Think You Should Know About Me
1. I have a totally weird psychosomatic reaction to not brushing my hair where my head itches uncontrollably until I brush my hair.
2. My eyebrows twitch when I get really mad

1 Thing I Insist on Doing Before I Die
1. Going to Alaska

Friday, February 19, 2010

Watch Out, the Parent Police are Coming

I'm tired. Sick and tired. Not just of the day to day judging that parents seem to do to one another. I've talked about that until even my ears are bleeding. But of the desire to judge famous people as parents.

We hate parents who have full time nannies, but we also hate parents who drag their kids everywhere. We hate Katie Holmes for letting Suri wear high heels, but we hate Brad and Angelina for letting Shiloh dress like a boy.

But that's just the beginning. What we really love to hate is parents who let their kids be on television. I have read more disparaging horrible things about Kate Gosselin, Michelle Duggar and Billy Ray Cyrus than all other parents on the planet combined.

I can't fathom what sins they have committed against the world that warrants the hatred I see directed toward them every day.

Kate may be a little bit of a harpie, but I am constantly overwhelmed by her amazing organizational skills. I have two children and I can't imagine being able to feed them all organic foods. She has eight and she manages it with aplomb. It takes me as long to get my two buckled into their car seats as it takes her to get eight.

And as to the obvious psychological damage that being on television causes to kids, I'm not sure that there is any evidence of that. This is really the first generation of reality shows, so there is no real precedent. But let's compare to child actors. Do you think that Kate's brood is any more damaged than say the Olsen twins? What about the kid who played Gage in Pet Semetary and cussed out half of Maine?

And as for Michelle... Well, personally, I think she's a whack job. I can't imagine choosing to have that many kids. I can't imagine choosing to have half that many kids. Possibly a quarter is the limit of my view of "normal." But frankly, she's doing a good job. She has well-behaved respectful kids. Her older kids know how to care for smaller children and do so on a regular basis. I may not agree with their faith, but I can respect her dedication to it. Yes, I think she's a little crazy for not closing up shop while she's still lucky, but if she wants to have 40 kids and can support them and continue to raise them to be as good as the current 19, I say have at it.

And finally, Billy Ray. Oh, dear, sweet, achey brakey Billy Ray. Okay, Miley may not be the most wholesome angel in the clouds, but newsflash, she's an American teenager, read imperfect. And frankly, I think Billy Ray is doing a great job with her. He's providing her with a safety net while allowing her to make her own mistakes. He's staying involved and letting her grow up.

And Noah Cyrus. I'm a little tired of all the outrage about her. The video of her slapping her own behind. Yeah, I don't think that's appropriate. But you know what, I don't think any of the viral videos of kids dancing MTV-worthy dances to that apple bottom jeans song are appropriate. And that's what it was: a viral video. Posted by an overzealous big sister who thought her kid sister was super cute.

People. Listen to me. Parenting is a messy art. It's finger painting on it's finest day. There are going to be spots on the floor. You don't get fewer spots for the number of zeroes on your paycheck. Let's cut celebrity parents a little slack. We are all in this together. Even the people on the cover of US Weekly.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Conversations with a Five Year Old

At 7:10 a.m.
Brynna: Mooommmmmeeeeee!
Me: Yes, dear?
Brynna: I'm sleepy.
Me: So, go to sleep. You've got a one hour delay. Daddy will come and get you when it's time to get up and get ready.
Brynna: But I can't sleep. Even though I'm sleepy.
Me: Well, that's because it's morning. Come in my room and you can watch the news with Daddy.
Brynna: No, I haven't slept.
Me: What?
Brynna: I never went to sleep. I went to bed last night and now it's morning and I never slept.
Me: I doubt that.
Brynna: It's truuuuueeeeee!
Me: If you never went to sleep then why didn't you holler for me when I first turned the TV on?
Brynna: Because I was asleep.
Me: But you said you never got to sleep.
Brynna: I didn't. You aren't listening to me.
Me: Okay, I'm going to go finish getting dressed. I love you.
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Brynna: I don't want to go back to school.
Me: I know. I don't wanna go back to work.
Brynna: Okay, let's stay home another day.
Me: I don't wanna do that either. I think we should go to school and work just so we can get out of the house.
Brynna: You know mommy, I'd like to tell you about a magical place. It's called the library.
(Ed. Note: Damn, she's mastered sarcasm.)
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Brynna: Daddy forgot to make me lunch today.
Me: He told me. He was pretty upset. What happened?
Brynna: The teachers made me lunch out of leftover snacks.
Me: So, what'd you have?
Brynna: I had strawberries and popcorn and peanut butter and jelly and cucumber slices.
Me: That sounds good.
Brynna: I didn't eat the cucumbers.
Me: It still sounds good.
Brynna: It was. I think you should forget my lunch every day, mommy.

Monday, February 15, 2010

What's In My Crochet Bag - Tisket Tasket Edition

Okay, so, in case you guys hadn't noticed, it's February. I still have in my possession two of my craft meme gifts that were to be mailed before the end of 2009. I have decided that the only way to whip myself into taking care of this situation is to start blogging it. That way, I can't just ignore it anymore. The sad part is that one of the gifts is completed and the other is completed except for a button being sewed on. As soon as I get that button on, it'll be done. And yet...

Ah well. Let's get started. This week, we'll focus on my gift to Joni at Where Your Treasure Is. A few months ago... Okay, last Easter Lion Brand featured a crocheted Easter Basket in their weekly e-newsletter. I fell in love with it. I lusted after this little basket and I couldn't wait to find an excuse to make it. So, as soon as I posted the craft meme, I started trying to decide who should get this little basket of fun.

I knew Joni had a little one at home and I knew how hard it is to keep your house looking like people live there when things are baby proofed. I thought she would enjoy it. The one pictured on Lion Brand was done in a slightly off white and had a little pink flower on the side, but it was an Easter Basket. I didn't want an Easter basket, I wanted a sittin-on-a-table-in-your-livin-room basket.

I purchased a really nice shade of brown Red Heart Classic. And I started the pattern. About two hours later, I threw it on the floor, pulled the blanket over my head and rocked back in forth in agony and frustration. It's not that the pattern is hard (it's mostly just really tedious single crochet) but that it's really bad.

I mostly love the patterns on Lion Brand, and if I'm going to bash this one, I feel that I should add that. They are mostly really good patterns. Well written, nice patterns with a lot of detail. I like Lion Brand patterns. Furthermore, they have an excellent pattern finder and a great system of making corrections when there is a mistake in a pattern.

This pattern, though, this pattern was stupid. Just plain stupid. First of all, there are two ways to deal with crochet in the round: one is to do rounds and connect back to the first stitch in the row. This method gives you a "seam" that you can see where the row begins/ends. However, it means that when you are done, you have a basically geometric circle. The other is to just keep going and mark the beginning of your "row" so you know basically how far you have gone. This method eliminates the "seam" but gives you less geometry. Imagine a spiral. No matter what you do, you can always see where the spiral ended.

This pattern used the spiral method. Now, I suppose that having no seam on the bottom of a basket is a good thing. But, in my mind, having a geometrically circular basket is more important.

Secondly, the body of the basket was just row after row of single crochet with no real texture or interest to it. It also had far less shape than the picture made it look. So, the next morning, I ripped it all out (for the fourth or fifth time) and started over. From scratch, pattern in the trash. I wish I had written down what I had done, because I am wicked proud of this. A few hours later, I had a really nice little basket. This summer, I'm going to try to replicate it and write a pattern. I also have a really nice idea of how to make a square, rectangular and ovular basket.

In the meantime, you'll have to live with a picture of the finished work. The flower was made from scraps, so I'm afraid I can't give you type and color names. The handle is stiffened with floral wire instead of being "stiffened." I'm especially proud of that basket weave. Doesn't that look cool? I'm totally patting myself on the back here. Ooh. I am sooo good.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

The Weight of Mommy

I may or may not have mentioned this here, but I am a big girl. I have struggled with my weight since I was six. (That is probably an exaggeration. I was not overweight as a child, not until my tween years, at least, but I always remember thinking of myself as fat and I can't remember a time when it wasn't a concern.)

Every year, I go through this phase where I decide I want to lose weight. That this time is going to be different. This time, I'll diet and the weight will come off and I'll be healthy and happy and people will say, "God, you look GREAT," and they'll mean it. Every year, I try. I make myself miserable. I count calories or carbs or points or whatever I decide is going to be thing to count this time. I journal my eating. I give up Coke (which is my major vice). I eschew cake and doughnuts and brownies. I buy tons of produce. I throw out my butter and restock my olive oil.

And then, a few weeks or months later, I cry. I step on the scale, which has not budged and I sob. I wail about why won't it work, what am I doing wrong, it's just not fair. I spend three or four days so depressed I can barely form words.

Finally, I wake up. I realize that I would rather be fat and happy than fat and depressed and since no one's getting any skinnier around these parts, those are my only two options. I throw out the diet cheese and get myself a Coke and decide that I'm fine.

I don't know if I'm fine or not. I've so long ago lost sight of fine, I'm not even sure what it looks like. Some days I'm fine. Some days I like this me. This me who is jolly and bakes a lot. This me who has the round face and the soft body. Some days I can't imagine a different me and I don't really want to. Some days, though, I can. I can imagine what it would be like to look nice when I dress up. To have people look at me and not my weight. To blend into the crowd.

Last week, Brynna told me, very matter of factly, that I was fat. I stepped on the scale after I got her to bed and realized I'd crossed my threshold. Every person who worries about their weight has one. The magic number. The number that draws the line. I'm fine as long as I don't weigh x, they think. I thought. But, I have exceded my threshold by eight pounds. Eight pounds is a lot.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to see my endocrinologist. He told me I was cured. I had won. Beaten the disease. I was nonplussed. He asked why. Firstly, I don't believe it. I don't believe that multiple members of my family are struggling with this disease on a lifelong basis and I just up and beat it. By forgetting to take my medication more than I rememberd. I don't believe it. It'll be back. I didn't tell him this, though, because when it comes back, I'm going to a different doctor. What I did tell him, though, was that I still feel bad. I still feel tired all the time and lethargic. I'm still overwhelmed by the feeling that I may just fall asleep. I still have heart flutters. I still feel rundown. He looked at me and earnestly said, "All those things may have as much to do with your weight as your thyroid."

I don't mind doctors addressing my weight. It's a factor in my health. What I do mind is doctors discounting symptoms because they may be attributed to my weight. It angers me.

And, perhaps, what also angers me is that he may be right. And I'm tired. I'm so tired of failing. I'm tired of trying and failing. I can't describe what it feels like to fight and lose the same battle so many times. I can't describe how lonely and useless I feel. I can't tell you how terrible it is to feel utterly devoid of hope that this will ever change.

And I know that the hopelessness makes it worse. I become self-defeating because I'm so used to being defeated. I know that. I know that as long as I am so sure of my impending failure, it will come.

I don't want Brynna to see me as fat. I don't want that to be part of her perception of her mother. I want her to be proud of me. I don't want to be so tired. I don't want to worry so much about how I look. I want to cut my hair short without worrying that it will make my face look too round. I want to wear the clothes that I like. I want to find jeans that fit. I want to own a bathing suit.

I want this time to be different. But I'm crippled by the fear that it won't.

I'm not proofing this because if I go back and read it, I'll never post it. I'll think it's too whiny and I'll be too embarrassed to admit some of this stuff to the universe. I don't know why I'm writing it anyway, except that it's been weighing on me and it needs to be said. Anyway, if I have typo-ed this to hell and back, pardon me. Please, because I just can't reread this. No matter what.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

White Out Conditions

I was in a blizzard once. Just once. In Colorado. At a forensics tournament. They moved the tournament to the hotel and we never had to go out into it. But looking out the window was like looking at a white bed sheet. There was no depth to it.

One of the other coaches was regaling us with tales of scary, scary blizzard stories and told us about falling down while walking in a white out. He said that he just lost all will to move. He had to make himself get up and crawl. I could understand that. It's not so much a matter of being lost or wandering or confused. It's a matter of the enormity of it sucking your own ability to fight away.

I have always loved cold weather and I have always loved the snow. But I recognize that snow has an insidious side, a cruel side.

Tonight, I drove home a little later than I wanted to. While I was on the road, the snow was falling fat and fast and the road was already covered. We have had a lot of snow this winter. More than any other winter I can remember. It just keeps coming. I've gotten a little used to it, a little invincible feeling.

Tonight, though, I didn't feel invincible. I felt small and vulnerable and at the whim and whimsy of the snow. I watched it swish and sway in the breeze and realized that I was, ever so slightly, following that swish with my car. I watched the road disappear beneath me and become a slightly smoother piece of the white. I saw the snow take back the world.

Tomorrow I will post pictures of our fairy land. Tomorrow in a new light and a new breath, I will see the beauty of the snow again, the glory, the overwhelming peace and calm that only snow can bring.

But tonight, tonight I will see the danger, the lurking evil. I will fear and I will be wary. I will snuggle into my bed and thank God that I have a furnace, a comforter, a roof, lamps, strong windows. Tonight I will be happy to be safe and huddle indoors.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Empty Promises, Random Annoyance and WIMCB - Baby Edition

I just read about this thing called Project 365 where you take a picture every day for 365 days and it is good for your skillz or something. I am totally going to try to do this. It'll probably be a bigger fail than NaNoWriMo. Oh, what, I never mentioned that again... Well, no reason. Anyway, I love photography and I have a pretty nice point and shoot. I mean, I'd like dial-y things, but if you have to have a point and shoot, mine is the one to have. And I like to think I'm pretty good, but sometimes I'm not and I really only get one or two good pictures per hundred, so I'm hoping that this helps. Anyway, I plan to pepper this place with my results, so be prepared to be amazed by the mediocrity.
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Anyone else irrationally annoyed by the SuperBowl ad for the Dodge Charger where the man lists all the things he does to "deserve" the car. Because it's a man's car. And he's soooo busy doing things like putting the seat down and sorting the recycling. Because it is really grating on me. Not just because it's misogyny at it's finest, but because, dude, what do you want, an award for being a decent human being? I'm so sick of men whining because they have to "help" with the kids or run errands or get up in the middle of the night or whatever. It's life. Suck it up and be, oh, I don't know, A MAN about it!
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I've been annoyed lately at Blogger. Nothing serious, just little things. One of which is how hard it is to write ahead. I like to write a post when I think about it and then publish it when it fits. Last Tuesday or so, I wrote a Friday meme and then published it on Friday. It seemed to bury it back right behind Tuesday's post. I don't know how this showed up in readers, but I like it, and it angers me that it got buried. So, here's your Friday meme! Written Tuesday! Published Friday! Linked to Monday! Because there's nothing like stability!!
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And now, with no further ado... What's in my Crochet Bag - Gender Worries Edition

Remember back in August, when I had to make a shower present and I didn't know the gender of the baby and I was "Woe is me! What shall I do? Are cherries girly?" (You know, I shouldn't re-read my stuff because I often want to smack myself.) Anyway, I decided that what I was going to do was find a nice gender neutral pattern and do a brown sweater and then add pink or blue when the baby was born. Except that I never got around to doing it and then the baby was born, so I'm covering her in pink and lavender. Because, whew, no more worries.

Anyway, I love the blanket! It's very lacy. Completely inappropriate for weather like we are having. Or really anything. But so pretty. I really had a nice time doing it too. It worked up fairly quickly. My only complaint is that the pattern wasn't very repetitive, so I had to keep going back to the book. I never got to the point where I could just work it and not go back for reference. The good part of that is that I didn't lose the book before I got to the edging. (Which I've never done, no, not me...) What I do like about it is that it looks good no matter what way you turn it. I also love the edging. I altered the pattern just slightly and didn't go up a needle size on the edging and I think it worked marvelously. It turned out nice, but really chunky compared to the fine gauge lace look of the blanket, which I like.

Here's the sweater. I really like it, although I'm always amused at the proportions of baby sweaters. Anyway, I do think this one is actually baby sized so that's good. Okay, yarn choices: Bernat Softee Baby in Pink Parade is the variagated. Again. The purple is Red Heart Soft Baby in lilac. Also, check out those buttons. I bought a couple of cards of these Beatrix Potter buttons in the fabric store with no idea what to put them on. I just couldn't skip out on them. I've lost one card, but these are just perfect. I didn't even have them when I made the sweater and they fit the holes perfectly. It's a match made in heaven.

(Click to enlarge. I hope)

Bonus - I learned a new trick thanks to Mr. Lady. So, the first person to notice my haircut my new trick and tell me in the comments wins a new scarf. Just ask Suze, it's very exciting. But you won't get it for a while. Because I'm just not that quick. But really, a new scarf. Someday.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Whine, Whine, Whine

So, it's Sunday morning, and I should be on the way to church. But I'm not. Why? Why, you ask? Because I married an idiot. Despite the snow, he parked in the driveway, on the big hill. So, he's stuck. We spent ten or fifteen minutes trying everything I could think of to get it out, then I gave in and let him take my car to work. Which, apparently, has my cell phone in it. And my sanity, I'm guessing.

It does, actually, have my planner, which is where I keep all my numbers and email addresses, so I can't get anyone. I tried to email a text to my mom, but I don't know how she's going to get back with me, so that's not all that helpful.
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Last night, Brynna threw up in bed. It was a mess. A really, really big mess. So, I very calmly asked for my husband's help and began to get Brynna undressed. As Brynna freaked out and everything went spiralling downhill until the two of us were sobbing and totally out of control, he laid in bed whining, "What's wrong? What do you need?"

I don't know when he figured out that I wasn't going to answer him, but he finally got up and came to help me? No, no, he started cleaning up her bedroom, completely ignoring the fact that Brynna and I were nigh on meltdown.

Then, when I had her cleaned, teeth brushed, berobed and nestled in my bed, he yelled at me for freaking out.
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Last night, Brynna and I were watching Demons (okay, for the record, I do, in fact, know that this is not appropriate programming for a five year old, but 1. it comes on after Dr. Who, 2. I was trying to get her to go to bed, and you don't do that by putting the TV on something she likes, and 3. It's not like there's any sex or anything) and a commercial for some low-something diet aid type of food came on.

"Oooh, that looks icky," opined Brynna.
"Yep. It sure does," I concurred.
"I don't think I'll ever eat that. Plus, I don't need it because I'm skinny, right Mommy?" she querried.
"Yep," I concurred again. I was furiously trying to finish my crochet project in hopes of being able to post it on Monday.
"But, maybe you should try it mommy, since you're really fat. You know, they say it tastes good."

Whatever.
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I think I'll just go back to bed. Sure, the kids will have to fend for themselves, but I really think they'll prefer that anyway.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Parenthood Isn't Easy, But I Don't Care

I've alluded on a few occasions here about my relationship with my father. When I say my father, I don't mean my Daddy (who is actually my grandfather) or my Dad (who is actually my stepfather), I mean my actual biological father. The human being who shares half my genes.

If you've missed those allusions, or are new here, here's the gist: it's not good. We can only really be said to have a relationship in the technical definitional way: we know each other.

Recently, I made a few jokes about how my father didn't even know about Maren. I want to make it clear that I am not hiding Maren from him, it just never came up. It never came up because I have not physically spoken with him since before I knew I was pregnant. He sends me cards, I ignore them. He sends me texts, I ignore them. That's it.

On his birthday, he posted a Facebook status about the "grandchildren [he's] allowed to know about." At first, I was sort of amused. My Facebook is protected and he's not allowed in, so he must have found my blog? my Flickr? Who knows? It was a mystery. But, it's stuck with me, that little snide remark. Like a splinter under my nail. From time to time, I forget it's there, but then I move my hand and it annoys me afresh. I've tried to just let it be, just let it work itself out of there, but I've reached my limit. I'm ripping off the nail and dealing with this thing. Right here, right now.

I tried for years to love my father. To view him as more than the sum of his faults. To see his avoidance of responsibility, his uncaring attitude, his lack of meaningful existence in my life as some sort of disability. I'd just love him on his own terms. Not mine. It seemed selfish to demand that he send my birthday cards in the right month or to know what year I was graduating high school. So what if I only saw him on average every three years and only talked to him twice a year, those cards he sent said he loved me, right?

But the disappointments continued. His absences grew longer and longer and his demand that he be the center of the universe when he was around grew more and more insistent. And I came to realize something very important, I wasn't selfish. He was.

He was selfish to think that he could just go 800-some odd miles away from me and his tie to me would cease to exist, but my tie to him would weather any storm. He was selfish to expect me to drop my plans and talk to him on the phone for hours, even when he didn't bother to call until a day or two after my birthday. He was selfish to believe that I could be bought with an annual gift certificate and a little poetry.

I have men in my life who were never selfish with me. Men who threatened my dates, taught me to watch basketball and play baseball. Men who watched The Dukes of Hazzard with me while drinking Coke out of a glass bottle. Men who shared Stephen King with me when I was growing out of the teenybopper fiction section of the library. Men who sat and watched cartoons with me when I was sick. Men who cruised neighborhoods to make sure I was where I said was going to be. Men who cared more than twice a year.

My father's father never knew me. He and I lived less than ten minutes apart for most of my life, but we never met. And that bothered me. I always lived with that just under the surface, that feeling of not really belonging to someone who I should belong to. So, when Brynna was born, I tried again with my father. I let him come back into my life. I answered the phone. I invited him into my living room and let him hold my daughter. I told myself that it wasn't going to be that bad, that I was an adult now and he couldn't hurt me anymore. I was doing this for Brynna.

But the truth is, I was wrong. He could hurt me. He did hurt me. I won't go into the details of that hurt, but I'd always just felt ignored and he left me feeling attacked.

But the larger issue is that I remembered how I had felt as a kid. Yes, I always felt sad about the lack of relationship with my grandfather. Yes, it always bothered me. And that's what I was concentrating on. But about my relationship with my father, I always felt like a not-so-favorite toy. I was something that he would pick up and look at every once in a while. I would turn on the lights and smile and think that this time would be different, this time I wouldn't just go back in the box at the end of the day. But, ultimately, that's where I always landed. I remember as a teenager telling a friend that it would have been easier if he had just disappeared than what he did.

And that's what ultimately changed my mind. I don't want Brynna to have such a fair-weather friend in her life. I don't want the definition of grandparent to be sullied for her by someone who only appears sporadically, makes promises he knows he can't keep and tells stories that never happened.

My father was young when I was born. He wasn't ready for a life with a kid. And I get that. I truly do. I am lucky that I didn't have children until I was ready and I know that not everyone has that luxury. I know it wasn't easy. I know I wasn't easy.

But, dammit, I was there. Ultimately, it's the grown-up who's responsible. The parent who has to make the effort.

As a parent, now, I know more than I ever did how hard it is to be a parent. How hard it is to let your life revolve around someone else. How hard it is to give up so much of yourself and expect so little in return. How hard it is to always be The Parent, with no breaks, no time off, no give-backsies.

I get it, but I don't care. You do it because you have to. Because there is no other choice. Because pretending there is doesn't make you stop being a parent, it makes you a sucky parent. Because even on the absolute worst day ever, the day that you honestly start to think you hadn't gotten yourself into this mess at all, you still love them and couldn't give them up for anything. You do it because, like it or not, you are The Parent.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Beta Moms Have Good Ideas, No Follow Through

Hi. My name is Jessi and I am a Beta Mom. That is to say, I am NOT an Alpha mom. I look at alpha moms with some wonder, in fact. You do what?!? I say. No red dye in the entire house, hm. Well, that's great. You make a homemade breakfast every morning before school? Seriously? We're not talking frozen waffles or instant oatmeal, huh? Really. You and your kid handmake Valentines every year for every kid in the class? Out of found objects and recycled craft supplies? Lovely.

I am the mom who goes to the grocery on the way to the school picnic, buys potato salad from the deli, dumps in a bowl and smooths press and seal around the top in the car. I am the mom who had to buy the freakin' bowl at the grocery store because I forgot to bring one. I'm the mom who makes slice and bake cookies for her kid's party at school. I'm the mom whose kid is always amazed when we don't have to go to the store on the way to the birthday party to buy a present. I am that mom.

And it's not that I want to be, it's just that I am. I am not bothered enough by these shortcomings to desire to change. Except for that last one. You see, I am a font of great ideas about birthday parties and gifts. But, I never seem to do them. It's a disease.

I used to horde these ideas like mental gold, but I have come to the conclusion that I will always be buying plastic crap from the local big box retailer on my way to every party. So, why shouldn't I share my fabulous ideas with you, my blog reading public. So, here you have them, from my fingers to your eyes:

Jessi's 5 Best Kid's Birthday Tips and Tricks:

1. The Gift Closet - This isn't a totally original thought. But, lots of time, when I am cruising through aforementioned big box retailer, I cruise the clearance section. There, I try to pick up good deals for boys and girls approximately the same age as my little one. Clothes are fine as long as you stick to easy to fit things like hoodies and sweaters. Hair bows and kid approved make-up (blue nail polish anyone?) are great. This is also a great way to get a toy nicer than you could normally afford to give. Also, during those insane back to school sales, I think people (not me obviously, because I = beta mom) should stock up on packs of markers, crayons, glue sticks, safety scissors, pencil cases, notebooks, etc. It may sound crazy, but add a coloring book or some craft supplies and you have an excellent present that kids and parents both will appreciate. Then, just keep this stuff on hand and use with wild abandon when you get those invitations.

2. Easy Wrapper - Along with having presents on hand, it's good to be able to wrap said presents. I do succeed in almost always having a nice generic birthday paper on hand. I don't like prints that are too boyish or girly because I don't want to have two, but I don't really like the all primary-all the time look either, so when I find something I like, I scoop it up. I also try (but fail) to keep an assortment of solid colored gift bags and solid colored tissue on hand. (Note - the bags sized for bottles of wine are perfect for Barbies.) This is a great opportunity for reusable gift bags (fabric, felt, etc.) too. Solids seem chintzy in the store, but with the right color combo, they can have a boutiquey look, you just have to work what you got. Which brings me to number

3. Ribbons and Bows X's and O's - A couple of years ago, Brynna got a birthday present in a nice solid pink bag with bright green paper and the handles were tied together with a black and white polka dot grosgrain ribbon. It was the most precious thing I had ever seen. I was disappointed afterward, though, to discover the ribbon was very short - about 3 inches and I couldn't do anything with it. What I like to do (but almost never do) is use real ribbon (satin and grosgrain) and cut long enough pieces to be used as hair bows. Alternately, when I do boy's presents, I think shoelaces are really cute ties. A pack of kid's shoelaces is about the same as a stickable bow, but has a use outside the party, too. In fact, I kinda hate bows. I try to always use things like hair bows, ribbons, string, silk flowers on a pin back, etc. For Christmas this year, I used wedding tulle on a spool and I thought it looked pretty darn nice and I could throw the presents in the trunk without worrying about them getting squashed.

4. Cards Drool, Books Rule - My daughter's school does Scholastic books. We did Weekly Reader when I was a kid. In any case, we get these fliers from school and we order books. A portion of what we spend goes back to the class to buy classroom materials and we get great books on the cheap. It's a win-win. A few months ago, I went to buy a birthday card and choked when I saw that most of the ones for kids were $3 at a minimum. Ouch. The Scholastic fliers each feature a $1 book and this genius idea was born. I try to keep a stock of $1 books on hand and use them as gift cards. Sure, the kids are sometimes confused, but just write your cardy stuff (To: AngelPants From: Brynna on her 6th Birthday) on the inside of the book and stick it where you would normally stick the card. You supported the school, saved $2, kid got a book instead of a stupid card and you've reduced the insane amounts of birthday waste by a smidge. Now your win-win is a win-win-win-win! I'm all about this one. I usually forget to order the books, but I've done it a couple of times and I think it's always been a hit.

5. Step Away from the Toy Department - Think outside the box. I don't know about you, but when I have to run and get a last minute gift, I gravitate right to Pink Plastic Mecca. This results in fail. Plastic is expensive and it's what everyone else gets. Try the book section, arts and crafts, DVD's, electronics, and clothes first. What's seasonal at that moment in clothing is almost always on sale. Most big box stores have sections devoted to discounted books, movies and games. Art supplies are easy to group together for big impact and little cost. Another fun place to try is the seasonal section. My favorite spring birthday hit is a little flower pot, some seeds, and a couple of accoutrement's (things to stick in the pot, watering can, gardening gloves, trowel, whatever catches your fancy.) Around Christmas, you can usually find some cute craft kits in the seasonal stuff and in summer, there's usually great beach/water fun things to be had.

Well, that's all I've got for now. Share your ideas. What's your favorite thing to get for kids? Do you have a go-to deal? Cute way to wrap something? Ever figured out how to wrap a ball, 'cause I got nothin' for that?

Monday, February 1, 2010

Things In Life I’m Disproportionately and Insanely Jealous Of - Not Technically a Friday Meme

Look at me!! This week I'm doing both, BOTH of my features. I did What's in my Crochet Bag on Monday and today I'm doing a meme. Except it's not technically a meme. It's technically a stolen post. I read this earlier this week and thought it was so darn funny, I had to go and steal it.

So, credit where credit is due, please go read Jen O.'s version at My Tornado Alley. She's pretty much a genius.

She listed 16. I don't think I'm going to get that far. Because I don't have a very good attention span, so I'm shooting for 10.

1. A Good Attention Span - It's not just like I'd like better focus, but more of a desire. I just can't be bothered about very many things. Including, but not limited to, craft projects, my children, work projects and house cleaning.

2. An Accent - (Yes, I stole this right off Jen's list. It's hard not to be jealous of things of which other people are already jealous. See that, I didn't end that sentence in a preposition. Still don't think it's right, but whatever.) Some would argue that I have an accent. Southernish or Kentucky-but-not-Mountain. Whatever. I hear it all the time, so I want a new one. Irish, preferably.

3. A Maid - I have a friend that gave up buying a morning coffee every day and bought instead a maid. An actual human who comes to her house twice a week and cleans up after her kids and dogs. (Okay, so she didn't really buy a person, it's more like a rental.) In any case, I don't buy morning coffee and I can't think of a single thing in my life that's give-upable that would pay for a maid.

4. Work at Home Options - Yeah, I'm allowed to work at home when the kids have swine flu, but really I'd like to work at home on a regular basis. In my jammies. The ones with the cow spots that are shaped like Mickey Mouse's head. Those are the best.

5. Jeans that Fit - I don't think I've owned a pair of jeans that fit properly since high school. Perhaps related, I haven't bought men's jeans since high school.

6. A Waist - Perhaps related to number 5 - I actually have a waist, but it's approximately two inches below the bottom band of my bra. If I wore my pants there, I'd be in serious pain and look worse than Urkle. You guys remember him? Good times. Anyway, maternity clothes fit me the way normal clothes fit you, so I'm pretty much screwed on ever finding those fitting jeans.
7. Fashion Nerve - I actually kinda know what I like, but I am usually afraid to wear it. Because I don't like it when people look at me too much. And when you walk around in boyfriend jeans, layered tops and Chuck Taylors with skulls and you're 31, people are gonna look.

8. Tivo - I'm never home on Thursdays at nine. And I think everyone knows what happens on Thursdays at nine. What? Some show about doctors whining? NO! Supernatural. Jensen Ackles. Enough said.

9. A Quick Wit - I often think of really good comebacks and witty things to say, but not until about two days after the fact. If I'm ever telling you a story and you think, "Wow, that was witty," chances are that I didn't really say it, I thought of it days later and just added it in.

10. The Ability to Breathe - This head cold is freakin' killin' me.

What's In My Crochet Bag - Mistake Edition

So, sometimes you screw up. Sometimes, you start to make something and it seems like it's turning out and then it's crap. I believe this to be universal, although obviously, I could be mistaken.

Such was the case about a year and a half ago when a friend of mine had a baby shower. Kristy has a son Brynna's age and was about to have a baby girl. She's a girly-girl sort herself, so I knew that cute clothes were going to be a must. I wanted to contribute. And of course, I wanted to contribute with a precious one of a kind, hand made baby sweater.

I started working and I worked and I was amazed at how well it was coming out. I bought buttons and finished it off. Then I held it up to see. Brynna was four at this point and Maren was an annoying case of morning sickness. Brynna immediately grabbed it out of my hands and PUT IT ON!!

You cannot imagine my shock. And possible horror. In the first place, I had done the same freakin' thing I always do and made it waaaay to big. I always do that. For one thing, I seem to crochet perfectly when gauging, but then huge when I start to do the real thing. I've all but given up on gauging because it's just not worth it when I can't seem to get it the same size on the piece itself. Secondly, I err on the side of big. I believe that kids can grow into it and adults would rather have it floppy. It's just my mantra.

And all that is fine, except that a four-year old was currently wearing a sweater I had made for a newborn. Which is not cool, peeps. Not cool. So, I bought some jammies and a stuffed animal, cried myself to sleep and took the sweater and threw it in Brynna's outgrown clothes box. (It went on her, but was a little snug. Too little to wear to school, at least and I didn't want to get it all stretched out for play clothes when it had never been worn.)

This weekend, I pulled it out, pondered its size and stuck it on Maren. She may only be 14 months, but she's wearing somewhere between 24 months and 2T, so I figured it may just fit the bill for my gigantor baby. I was right. She was damn near precious in it.

Proving that mistakes happen for a reason. Because she really needed something warm that matched pink sweatpants this weekend. Here are pics:


I made this with Bernat Softee Baby in Pink Parade. I really liked that it was mostly white with pink and lavender worked in. If I make this one again, I'll use a solid. I like the look of this sweater, but a lot of the detail is lost because of the variegation.
I can't find the pattern I used for this. I was pretty sure it was a Bernat pattern, but I can't seem to track it down. Sorry. I'll update if I find it. A lot of it is just simple dc's but the two stripes on front and back and one on each sleeve have a really nice pattern. Very much open work, though. It has to be worn with something under it.
My favorite part is the little buttons on the shoulders. This makes it easy to take off and put on without sacrificing the look of the pullover. Very handy for baby.
I'm pretty much not allowed to take pictures of Maren without taking one of Brynna. In this shot, she's wearing the robe my mom made her for her birthday. I told mom a bigger size than Brynna wears so she'd get to wear it longer and mom made the size bigger so she'd get to wear it longer. It sorta has a train. We love it though and she may still be wearing it in high school.

I sort of have a pile of WIMCB's to post, so I may actually be doing it once a week for a while. If I remember, that is.