I very rarely watch the news. And this evening proved to me why this is. I turned it on as I was preparing dinner, with my small children wandering around. And then came the news report about the very disturbed man who kidnapped and murdered an eight year old boy. I heard in great detail about how the boy "made the mistake of asking the man for directions" when he got lost on his way home from day camp, how the man killed and dismembered the boy, and how they found parts of his body in the man's freezer.
This upset me. A lot. I don't need this sort of information in my psyche. And I was very upset that my children could have heard this (thankfully they were in another room). And then I got even more upset at the news station (ABC). This is not news. This is a horrific event that I truly do not need to hear about, and I see absolutely no good coming out of sharing it with the world via the media. (And don't even get me started on the Casey Anthony case, which was glorified in the same news cast, boasting a "minute by minute" account of every move she has made since her release.)
This is not news. This perpetuates horror and fear.
And when horror and fear need a breather, there is always Celebrity Couples! This is also not news. J Lo and Marc Anthony are breaking up! WHAT?! Stop the presses! (Oh, I mean the, uh, Google Readers??) The "news" report I saw the other night on this vital topic was supported by stopping random nobodies on the street saying intelligent things like, "Wow, uh. Wow. I thought they was, ya' know, good together." And "Well I'm NOT SURPRISED, since they are both CONTROL FREAKS and two control freaks cannot POSSIBLY make it work." I felt truly enlightened after these insights.
This is not news. Stop cluttering my life with your nonsense. I'm switching you off and going back to my soap. My life is much better for discovering whether Victoria has it in her to forgive Billy. And who IS Tucker's son, anyway?
Monday, July 18, 2011
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Meditate, Mop the Floor, or Cry?
I just don't understand it. Why is parenting so hellish while your kids are little, and then when they're suddenly grown you're plunged into sadness, loss, and regret?
I adore my children. Of course this goes without saying. They are the most beautiful, adorable, vivacious, happy, energetic, smart, brilliant, funny people ever created. But MY GOD do they drive me nuts.
And oh! How I suffer! The baby won't go to sleep. It's an hour plus of a struggle three times a day. The 5 year old keeps attacking the baby, keeps mouthing off to her mother, and has an insatiable appetite for constant activity, and is an ungrateful little thing when she has 5 minutes of her day that isn't planned.
So I suffer. And I don't sleep. And I whine. And I yell. And I discipline. And I take 100,000 deep breaths a day. And I count the days until kindergarten. And then stress about how on EARTH I'm gonna give the baby her afternoon nap when I have to pick up her big sister from school DURING nap time EVERY DAY. And I am brought to tears.
But then I stop. And I look at them. And am bowled over by their beauty. Their intelligence. Their spirit. The sheer fact of their existence. And I am brought to tears. Again.
So my question is: Why does it have to be like this? Why are babies and children so challenging to care for, and then all of a sudden they become independent and you would give anything to be asked to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich just one more time? Why the extremes? Couldn't I suffer less when they are little, enjoy them more, and then happily send them on their way with a tear, a sniff and a smile? This is either:
a) Mother Nature's way of perpetuating evolution by making parents very anxious to kick their children out of the nest,
b) The Universe punishing me for not having children in my 20s,
c) Just the way it is, so Deal With It, or
d) A wake up call for me to get it together and learn patience and acceptance so I'm not so pissed off all the time.
Because it's just not fun to be pissed off all the time. It really isn't. I don't know if you've ever tried it, but it's not something I'd recommend. And pre-children I considered myself to be a relatively cheerful, positive person. I'm grumpy when I wake up, grumpy when I'm making breakfast for all these people I've begotten, grumpy when I'm slathering sunscreen on the 5 year old at 8:59 when camp begins at 9, and she's not participating because she HAS TO put a ponytail in her Barbie's hair RIGHT NOW. And on. And on. It's just not an enjoyable way to spend one's day. So then I think, oh, I should meditate, do more Yoga, read "The Power Of Now" again, or at the very least read the damn Dalai Lama's Facebook updates (which I tend to skim over because I'm always in a hurry.) But this just makes me feel guilty. So that doesn't help. I try to take care of myself. When the baby finally falls asleep I always choose between napping, exercising, or cleaning something. I try to maintain a balance. But I'm still on this roller coaster I can't get off of. Or more accurately, parenting to me feels like I've got my finger stuck in an electric socket, and I just can't get it out, no matter how hard I try.
So I've got no answers. Great kids. Great husband. Kids drive me nuts. Husband doesn't (lucked out there). Grumpy a lot. Look forward to my evening glass of wine a little too enthusiastically. Try to take care of myself with exercise and time to myself at least for a few hours on a weekend. I love these little people so much it hurts. I pine for the day when they don't take so much from me. And I desperately don't want that day to come.
I adore my children. Of course this goes without saying. They are the most beautiful, adorable, vivacious, happy, energetic, smart, brilliant, funny people ever created. But MY GOD do they drive me nuts.
And oh! How I suffer! The baby won't go to sleep. It's an hour plus of a struggle three times a day. The 5 year old keeps attacking the baby, keeps mouthing off to her mother, and has an insatiable appetite for constant activity, and is an ungrateful little thing when she has 5 minutes of her day that isn't planned.
So I suffer. And I don't sleep. And I whine. And I yell. And I discipline. And I take 100,000 deep breaths a day. And I count the days until kindergarten. And then stress about how on EARTH I'm gonna give the baby her afternoon nap when I have to pick up her big sister from school DURING nap time EVERY DAY. And I am brought to tears.
But then I stop. And I look at them. And am bowled over by their beauty. Their intelligence. Their spirit. The sheer fact of their existence. And I am brought to tears. Again.
So my question is: Why does it have to be like this? Why are babies and children so challenging to care for, and then all of a sudden they become independent and you would give anything to be asked to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich just one more time? Why the extremes? Couldn't I suffer less when they are little, enjoy them more, and then happily send them on their way with a tear, a sniff and a smile? This is either:
a) Mother Nature's way of perpetuating evolution by making parents very anxious to kick their children out of the nest,
b) The Universe punishing me for not having children in my 20s,
c) Just the way it is, so Deal With It, or
d) A wake up call for me to get it together and learn patience and acceptance so I'm not so pissed off all the time.
Because it's just not fun to be pissed off all the time. It really isn't. I don't know if you've ever tried it, but it's not something I'd recommend. And pre-children I considered myself to be a relatively cheerful, positive person. I'm grumpy when I wake up, grumpy when I'm making breakfast for all these people I've begotten, grumpy when I'm slathering sunscreen on the 5 year old at 8:59 when camp begins at 9, and she's not participating because she HAS TO put a ponytail in her Barbie's hair RIGHT NOW. And on. And on. It's just not an enjoyable way to spend one's day. So then I think, oh, I should meditate, do more Yoga, read "The Power Of Now" again, or at the very least read the damn Dalai Lama's Facebook updates (which I tend to skim over because I'm always in a hurry.) But this just makes me feel guilty. So that doesn't help. I try to take care of myself. When the baby finally falls asleep I always choose between napping, exercising, or cleaning something. I try to maintain a balance. But I'm still on this roller coaster I can't get off of. Or more accurately, parenting to me feels like I've got my finger stuck in an electric socket, and I just can't get it out, no matter how hard I try.
So I've got no answers. Great kids. Great husband. Kids drive me nuts. Husband doesn't (lucked out there). Grumpy a lot. Look forward to my evening glass of wine a little too enthusiastically. Try to take care of myself with exercise and time to myself at least for a few hours on a weekend. I love these little people so much it hurts. I pine for the day when they don't take so much from me. And I desperately don't want that day to come.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Unattainable Addiction
I can't keep up with my television shows. Now I know this shouldn't be so important in the scheme of things. But it seems that the more stress in my life, the bigger my need is for a medical/legal/island drama or a reality singing or dancing show.
It gets even more complicated by the fact that I'm a linear person, and need to watch every episode of, say, "Grey's Anatomy" in order. So if I miss one, I get all confused and resentful. And abc.com only keeps the last five episodes or so on line, so if I wait too long, all is lost.
Speaking of "Lost," gracious! One can't miss a moment of this one, let alone an entire episode. Otherwise: What decade are we in now? Who's alive? Who hasn't been born yet? Who's Aaron's mom now? Is Ben all-powerful or a wuss in this one? Which ones have actually met Jacob? Have they explained yet about the polar bears??? I have managed to watch this show faithfully since its inception, but with the new baby and all, the final season has gotten away from me. I'll have to actually break down and spend money on iTunes to see this one. With all of my free time. Sigh.
And it's also a problem that I happen to like my husband, and respect the fact that he likes many of the same shows (though thankfully he despises "Lost"). So if he's out at a late meeting or at Masons, I'm faced with the quandary: Do I watch "Parenthood" without him? Then he'll be behind. And I'll either have to watch it again or leave him forever in the dark. He's a good sport about it, but one doesn't like to watch one's spouse suffer quietly...
And it doesn't help that everyone and their brother who I went to school with grew up and became famous. So of course I have to watch THEIR shows. "Damages," "In Plain Sight," "Weeds," every other episode of all the various "Law & Order"s; I got people in all of 'em. Even "Baywatch." (But thankfully I've restrained myself there.) And forget about all those sweet talented people that I did musicals with in high school that became mega-movie stars. A girl can't keep up. I'll rent their movies in 2015 when the baby goes to Kindergarten.
I hear you suggesting that I forget the whole thing and throw the TV out the window. Worth considering... Okay I considered it. Nope. Need to see who wins on "Idol." Need to get my fix of brain-numbing-screen-watching after the kids are finally asleep and all 147 items of laundry are folded and put away.
And if I don't keep up with "Glee," my Facebook friends will never speak to me again. Can't have that.
It gets even more complicated by the fact that I'm a linear person, and need to watch every episode of, say, "Grey's Anatomy" in order. So if I miss one, I get all confused and resentful. And abc.com only keeps the last five episodes or so on line, so if I wait too long, all is lost.
Speaking of "Lost," gracious! One can't miss a moment of this one, let alone an entire episode. Otherwise: What decade are we in now? Who's alive? Who hasn't been born yet? Who's Aaron's mom now? Is Ben all-powerful or a wuss in this one? Which ones have actually met Jacob? Have they explained yet about the polar bears??? I have managed to watch this show faithfully since its inception, but with the new baby and all, the final season has gotten away from me. I'll have to actually break down and spend money on iTunes to see this one. With all of my free time. Sigh.
And it's also a problem that I happen to like my husband, and respect the fact that he likes many of the same shows (though thankfully he despises "Lost"). So if he's out at a late meeting or at Masons, I'm faced with the quandary: Do I watch "Parenthood" without him? Then he'll be behind. And I'll either have to watch it again or leave him forever in the dark. He's a good sport about it, but one doesn't like to watch one's spouse suffer quietly...
And it doesn't help that everyone and their brother who I went to school with grew up and became famous. So of course I have to watch THEIR shows. "Damages," "In Plain Sight," "Weeds," every other episode of all the various "Law & Order"s; I got people in all of 'em. Even "Baywatch." (But thankfully I've restrained myself there.) And forget about all those sweet talented people that I did musicals with in high school that became mega-movie stars. A girl can't keep up. I'll rent their movies in 2015 when the baby goes to Kindergarten.
I hear you suggesting that I forget the whole thing and throw the TV out the window. Worth considering... Okay I considered it. Nope. Need to see who wins on "Idol." Need to get my fix of brain-numbing-screen-watching after the kids are finally asleep and all 147 items of laundry are folded and put away.
And if I don't keep up with "Glee," my Facebook friends will never speak to me again. Can't have that.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Starting Block
I have trouble starting things. I'm sure I'm the only one for which this is true. Like now. I need to be starting dinner. I need to start dinner so dinner can be actually eaten, baths given, stories read, and offspring put to bed. But there is this very physical-seeming block preventing me from opening the package of ground beef, from adding the garlic powder and turning on the burner.
Part of it is a fear I have of screwing up the timing of cooking, which I always do. How long does zucchini REALLY take to saute? I don't know... maybe I should wait... And at what point do I toast the buns without having to serve them cold? And the biggest obstacle is timing dinner to be ready immediately AFTER the Barbie movie ends, to eliminate the torrential whining if the TV is turned off before she saves the mermaid kingdom or whatever. Which means I need to make sure the Barbie movie begins at a reasonable time, which is another monumental challenge, entailing the ending of playdates on time, provoking more whiny resistance.
This struggle with starting also applies to shopping. Yesterday I had one goal: to visit the Apple store in order to purchase Kindergarten level educational software that will work on my Macintosh. I began first thing in the morning. Took me two hours to get out the door (I have a four month old, so this is expected). I arrived at the mall, and a reasonable person would have b-lined for the Apple store, made the purchase, and be done. But not me. I have to get everything out of the way FIRST before I get to go to the Apple store. So this means getting some lunch at the food court, by which time the baby has noticed that she is awake, hungry and wet. So off to the Family Rest Rooms for feeding and changing. Then returning baby socks at The Gap (which are supposed to stay on but go flying across the room at first kick), then to the Hallmark Card for a card for Sophie, where I am sidetracked for half an hour agonizing about whether or not I should spend the stupid $26 on the Webkinz Jr. (I ultimately decide against it, having no space in my house for yet another large stuffed animal, and resenting that one has to buy the silly huge thing just for the secret code so you can go on the website and play the game once or twice.) By this time the baby is yelling at me, so I put her in the Bjorn and we walk through the mall with her singing and people laughing at us.
At this point I need chocolate, so off to get a mocha, after which the baby is wet again so back to the rest room. I finally admit that if I don't take the plunge now, I will be late in picking up the one for which I am working so hard. So I take a deep breath, and FINALLY head towards the Apple store. I take only a brief detour into a CVS, and then I make it. Finding appropriate software takes about two minutes. I think I'm gonna cruz and be okay for time, but then two Apple employees start squealing over my shoulder because they have spotted my baby. So I am obliged to pass my baby around the store and take pictures of all the employees holding her and emailing the pics to them from my phone. (I know I must do this because it is clear that my smiling baby was put on this earth to make people happy, so who am I to interfere?)
I finally pry my child away, pay for my software, and book it out of there. Of course gotta feed the baby before we brave the 40 minute drive back, which of course I have to do in 30 minutes because I didn't just head straight for the Apple store in the first place. I arrive 5 minutes late to pick up daughter #1, and get, "What took you so long, Mommy?" Sigh. I hope she doesn't inherit this personal flaw.
Part of it is a fear I have of screwing up the timing of cooking, which I always do. How long does zucchini REALLY take to saute? I don't know... maybe I should wait... And at what point do I toast the buns without having to serve them cold? And the biggest obstacle is timing dinner to be ready immediately AFTER the Barbie movie ends, to eliminate the torrential whining if the TV is turned off before she saves the mermaid kingdom or whatever. Which means I need to make sure the Barbie movie begins at a reasonable time, which is another monumental challenge, entailing the ending of playdates on time, provoking more whiny resistance.
This struggle with starting also applies to shopping. Yesterday I had one goal: to visit the Apple store in order to purchase Kindergarten level educational software that will work on my Macintosh. I began first thing in the morning. Took me two hours to get out the door (I have a four month old, so this is expected). I arrived at the mall, and a reasonable person would have b-lined for the Apple store, made the purchase, and be done. But not me. I have to get everything out of the way FIRST before I get to go to the Apple store. So this means getting some lunch at the food court, by which time the baby has noticed that she is awake, hungry and wet. So off to the Family Rest Rooms for feeding and changing. Then returning baby socks at The Gap (which are supposed to stay on but go flying across the room at first kick), then to the Hallmark Card for a card for Sophie, where I am sidetracked for half an hour agonizing about whether or not I should spend the stupid $26 on the Webkinz Jr. (I ultimately decide against it, having no space in my house for yet another large stuffed animal, and resenting that one has to buy the silly huge thing just for the secret code so you can go on the website and play the game once or twice.) By this time the baby is yelling at me, so I put her in the Bjorn and we walk through the mall with her singing and people laughing at us.
At this point I need chocolate, so off to get a mocha, after which the baby is wet again so back to the rest room. I finally admit that if I don't take the plunge now, I will be late in picking up the one for which I am working so hard. So I take a deep breath, and FINALLY head towards the Apple store. I take only a brief detour into a CVS, and then I make it. Finding appropriate software takes about two minutes. I think I'm gonna cruz and be okay for time, but then two Apple employees start squealing over my shoulder because they have spotted my baby. So I am obliged to pass my baby around the store and take pictures of all the employees holding her and emailing the pics to them from my phone. (I know I must do this because it is clear that my smiling baby was put on this earth to make people happy, so who am I to interfere?)
I finally pry my child away, pay for my software, and book it out of there. Of course gotta feed the baby before we brave the 40 minute drive back, which of course I have to do in 30 minutes because I didn't just head straight for the Apple store in the first place. I arrive 5 minutes late to pick up daughter #1, and get, "What took you so long, Mommy?" Sigh. I hope she doesn't inherit this personal flaw.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Comment Etiquette
I have a major flaw. I want people to like me. And I care if they don't. This flaw has led to many unfortunate experiences in my life.
Like in college I dated several guys who I didn't like very much, because I had succeeded in getting them to like me and I didn't want to mess that up. (I had an "aha moment" junior year when I realized that if I chose to date someone, I had to actually like them, and was proud of myself for how brilliant that conclusion was.)
And needing everyone to like me made me a VERY bad waiter. "Oh no! Table seven didn't get their Diet Coke! They'll be mad at me!" "Oh no! Did I just walk by the Mexican salad-making-guy without saying hello? Now the whole kitchen will hate me!" "No, I can't possibly push the lobster just because it's the most expensive! That would be dishonest, and the customers would not like me very much." Needless to say, my career as a waiter was short lived, which was unfortunate for an aspiring actress in NYC.
But now is the age of Comments. Comments on blogs, on Facebook, on YouTube videos, on nytimes.com for gosh sakes. I love to comment and receive comments. It's one of the joys of my day.
But here is my dilemma: Do I comment on someone's comment? Isn't that the proper thing to do? What if someone comments back on my comment? Am I obligated to comment on their comment of my comment? My logic tells me that there is only so much time in a day, and if I am inspired, go for it. But whenever someone says something very funny, clever, or heartfelt in a comment to me, I do feel it is my obligation to acknowledge this. They need to know how I appreciated this! That I laughed, snorted, teared up, etc. so they know what a caring person I am and they continue to like me.
This gets rather exhausting. Especially for a control freak like me. Before the Cyber-Age, I could pretty much keep track of everyone currently in my life. But now that I am in touch with folks from grade school, grammar school, high school, college, jobs, shows, blogs, mom friends, local music folks, friends of friends, random cousins I had forgotten about and so on, I just can't keep up. Should I not accept friend requests from people I don't know? Then I could control a smaller circle of people. But I want to reach out and spread that Gemini Joy, remember?? So I'll go for it! Be friends with everybody! Comment when I feel like it! Laugh or cry and not tell the commenter about it?... But what if their feelings are hurt and they are not encouraged enough to comment so cleverly in the future? I'd miss out and they'd stop liking me so much and...
I need a nap.
Like in college I dated several guys who I didn't like very much, because I had succeeded in getting them to like me and I didn't want to mess that up. (I had an "aha moment" junior year when I realized that if I chose to date someone, I had to actually like them, and was proud of myself for how brilliant that conclusion was.)
And needing everyone to like me made me a VERY bad waiter. "Oh no! Table seven didn't get their Diet Coke! They'll be mad at me!" "Oh no! Did I just walk by the Mexican salad-making-guy without saying hello? Now the whole kitchen will hate me!" "No, I can't possibly push the lobster just because it's the most expensive! That would be dishonest, and the customers would not like me very much." Needless to say, my career as a waiter was short lived, which was unfortunate for an aspiring actress in NYC.
But now is the age of Comments. Comments on blogs, on Facebook, on YouTube videos, on nytimes.com for gosh sakes. I love to comment and receive comments. It's one of the joys of my day.
But here is my dilemma: Do I comment on someone's comment? Isn't that the proper thing to do? What if someone comments back on my comment? Am I obligated to comment on their comment of my comment? My logic tells me that there is only so much time in a day, and if I am inspired, go for it. But whenever someone says something very funny, clever, or heartfelt in a comment to me, I do feel it is my obligation to acknowledge this. They need to know how I appreciated this! That I laughed, snorted, teared up, etc. so they know what a caring person I am and they continue to like me.
This gets rather exhausting. Especially for a control freak like me. Before the Cyber-Age, I could pretty much keep track of everyone currently in my life. But now that I am in touch with folks from grade school, grammar school, high school, college, jobs, shows, blogs, mom friends, local music folks, friends of friends, random cousins I had forgotten about and so on, I just can't keep up. Should I not accept friend requests from people I don't know? Then I could control a smaller circle of people. But I want to reach out and spread that Gemini Joy, remember?? So I'll go for it! Be friends with everybody! Comment when I feel like it! Laugh or cry and not tell the commenter about it?... But what if their feelings are hurt and they are not encouraged enough to comment so cleverly in the future? I'd miss out and they'd stop liking me so much and...
I need a nap.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Text to Blog?
So here I am, testing whether to believe Blogger.com, which claims I can send a text message from my phone and it will appear in my blog.
I've been having trouble completing enough thoughts to write a coherant blog entry, due to the preponderance of short people in my house. So perhaps whipping out my cell phone and jotting down a text whenever I have an inspiration between diaper changes and Barbie weddings is the way to go.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Uncle
Okay, I surrender. I just can't cook meat.
I mean I try, but I just can't get it right. It is either undercooked, overcooked, or a little of each. And yes, you can comment away about meat thermometers, about taking the meat out 5-10 degrees before it is supposed to be done, about feeling the bounciness of it, etc. etc. I know it all. I've heard it all. I've been lectured on it all.
And it doesn't help that my gourmet-trained-to-cook-in-a-northern-italian-restaurant husband, upon being asked how I know when the chicken is done, replies, "When it is done." Sigh.
Last night I fried some pork chops. I took them out when the middle was bouncy but not hard, white but not pink. Perfect? Well the corners, and the bits near the bone were raw. Yes, raw. What's a girl to do? Turn the pan, flip them around, yadda yadda. I do it all. I just got unlucky in this particular skill department.
A few days ago I broiled some steaks. My husband exclaimed, "These are perfectly cooked!" My secret? That evening I had an overtired screaming baby strapped to me in the front carrier as I cooked, and I was desperately trying not to singe her as I checked the meat. And I had stuffed my four year old in front of a movie so I could concentrate on one crisis at a time. Perhaps I should do that every night. My nerves would be fried, the baby would grow up a frightened, exhausted, burned young thing, the four year old would have frozen brain cells, but at least we all would be well fed.
I mean I try, but I just can't get it right. It is either undercooked, overcooked, or a little of each. And yes, you can comment away about meat thermometers, about taking the meat out 5-10 degrees before it is supposed to be done, about feeling the bounciness of it, etc. etc. I know it all. I've heard it all. I've been lectured on it all.
And it doesn't help that my gourmet-trained-to-cook-in-a-northern-italian-restaurant husband, upon being asked how I know when the chicken is done, replies, "When it is done." Sigh.
Last night I fried some pork chops. I took them out when the middle was bouncy but not hard, white but not pink. Perfect? Well the corners, and the bits near the bone were raw. Yes, raw. What's a girl to do? Turn the pan, flip them around, yadda yadda. I do it all. I just got unlucky in this particular skill department.
A few days ago I broiled some steaks. My husband exclaimed, "These are perfectly cooked!" My secret? That evening I had an overtired screaming baby strapped to me in the front carrier as I cooked, and I was desperately trying not to singe her as I checked the meat. And I had stuffed my four year old in front of a movie so I could concentrate on one crisis at a time. Perhaps I should do that every night. My nerves would be fried, the baby would grow up a frightened, exhausted, burned young thing, the four year old would have frozen brain cells, but at least we all would be well fed.
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