Monday, April 23, 2012
Mommy's Day Out
I was so excited this past Saturday. I was going to hang out with my friend in DC as she looked for apartments in the Eastern Market area. I had already told Larry that he needed to find someone to watch Park and that we would be leaving early. I got up that morning excited and ready to go. Larry had a game so I still had to get Park up, dressed and fed, but I "whistled as I worked" because it was a gorgeous day and I was free to enjoy it unencumbered. No bringing the back pack filled with snacks, milk, and a change of clothes; no making sure the right stroller was in the trunk and not the one my husband broke, whose metal rod has to be jerry-rigged to stay in place; no portable potty that I have to pull over to use after passing three bathrooms and my daughter swearing she didn't have to go. Nope - the day was all mine. As I was leaving, trying to run out the door while tying Park's shoe, she asked for a popsicle and I said "You're going to have to learn to open the fridge and climb up there yourself because I'm out!" I yelled upstairs to Larry that I was leaving, closed the door and looked through the glass only to find Park looking back at me through the glass crying her little eyes out. But it was 84 degrees and I planned on enjoying my well-deserved time; so I pushed the image out of my mind, knowing she'd be okay hanging with "Aunty Dawn" for the day.
We got into the car and headed into the city and the day did not disappoint. We saw about five apartments and then sat down to eat at Montmarte, being sure to sit outside so we could people watch as we dined. And of course every last thing about being outside reminded me of Parker - the nice weather: I thought about how she would enjoy being out here with Mommy; little girls walking by: any race, any age, reminded me of something my girl would wear or do; little boys running: reminded me of how rough and tumble she can be; even the meal reminded me of our last visit to the same restaurant with her and how I had to keep her from flipping over the table. Simply put, being without her made me think of her even more. Even as we visited more apartments that afternoon I imagined what bedroom Park and I would be staying in when we visited.
My husband teases me. He says I don't really hang out with anyone. I beg to differ. My sister is my best friend and I hang out with her when she comes to town; we talk pretty much every day and vacation together with friends, I have some girlfriends in the area who I see occasionally and then there are the Mommies I have met through Park. But the reality is, most of my days are spent working here from home and hanging with Park. I don't think it's crazy or lonely, I just want her to be a part of all of my experiences - whether it's a sunny day outside, a weekend activity or a vacation - she rolls with me. And when she is not there, I imagine what she'd do if she were. As much as I relish the "me time" I wonder if I am cheating her out of an experience she will enjoy.
Now, she is not "up-under me" every second. If it's a weekend I always make sure we have something to do so we don't drive each other crazy all day; some days she practically has to drag me down to her play room because if I watch another episode of "The Fresh Beat Band" I may walk out on a ledge - although she'll let Daddy go down there and watch whatever he wants on the other TV, Mommy has to sit at rapt attention in the same room; and when she gets home from school, I practically have to pry her from sitting on top of me for the first hour she gets home. So I do appreciate the space between us, I just really like the closeness too.
As I look at my calendar for the week, it's mostly filled with her appointments: gymnastics, tap & ballet; two doctors appointments, Mary Poppins, two birthday parties and a swim class and let's not forget church on Sunday. But the next week looks promising. I just have to remember to schedule in some time for me - and then wonder how much Park would enjoy being there!
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Miss to Ma'am
I just finished working out - something I used to do for enjoyment is now an obligation. For years I was the one who never looked her age. As a senior in my Catholic high school, the Guidance Counselor stopped me one day for not having on a uniform as a freshman(a privilege only granted on Fridays to seniors), before she realized I was a senior. I started college at 17 and graduated at 20, so as a junior I was often had the age and looks of some freshman. When I started my business, I'd have to wistfully reflect on something I did at my first job "years ago" so the clients could start mentally calculating my age and know they weren't talking to a high school kid with no experience.
I remember going to my first job and ordering a corn muffin about the size of my face with extra butter every morning; then topping it off with a Hershey Bar with almonds and soda for a snack. Those were the days I could hang out until 4:00 a.m.and turn around and do it all over again. Those were the days when I stared blankly at a woman who commented on my size and said "See - you're not a double digit girl" I had no idea that she meant clothing size.
Exercise was fun - something to do! There was a gym franchise around the corner from my house, on 86th and Lexington, called Living Well Lady, where you'd find the teachers, who were actually dancers, outside on their breaks smoking cigarettes, eating potato chips and sipping soda! Everyone took for granted that they were young and would always look "this good."
I guess I took for granted that I would always look young. Don't get me wrong - I still look young for my age. But the reality is, I look young-er than my age and that is the difference. No matter what routine I do, there's no mistaking that I am solidly middle-aged! No one will mistake me for 20 or 25 anymore. Instead, it's a compliment when they think I'm 35. No one will call me "Miss" anymore; I am firmly in the "Ma'am" category.
I used to be one of those women who said "I'll never dye my hair; when the gray comes, I will wear it with pride and style." Now I try to think of which hairstyle I can wear to cover the increasingly evident gray strands until I can get them colored. I used to say, "Oh I'm still trying to lose the baby weight." Well the "baby" is almost three and a half years old and I am still trying to lose those last six pounds! Once scoffing the idea of Spanx, I reach for them every time I put on a dress. And I have crossed the line into a double-digit girl. I have seen my body go from size 6 to size 8 to size 10.
My 30 year old neighbor, who has son older than my daughter, just celebrated her mother's 50th birthday. I am three years younger than her mother - yet my daughter is younger than her son! That is the funniest thing - in my circle in NY it seemed an anomaly to find a woman who was married with kids before 35. I can name ten women off the top of my head who were married after 35. Now, several of the women I meet here in the DC area with kids my daughter's age, are any where from 10 to 20 years younger than me!
But having my daughter allows me to walk in both worlds. I am forced to climb and run and jump and leap because being the mother of a toddler demands it and I enjoy having younger friends who I am wise enough to know that I can learn from as much as they can learn from me. But I hopefully also have the benefit of my life experiences.
I can honestly say there is not one bone in my body that longs for those younger days. There are some things that I "know for sure." I know that when I hear Adele's gorgeous ballad "Someone Like You," I absolutely cannot relate because I know that at almost 39, I married the right one for me; I know my worth when it comes to my work and my talents and no one can make me think otherwise; I know that, while a few pounds heavier than I was 20 years ago, I am still an attractive, happy and satisfied woman; I know that a song from Biggie or Jay Z will still make me jump out of my seat despite my father's wondering if I'll ever outgrow hip-hop; I know that my daughter is the best thing that ever happened to me and makes weight and age mere things to ponder, but never dwell on.
So I am have to turn in my "Miss" card but I know, with every day, every experience, every creaky body exercise move and every gray hair that sprouts, I have earned my "Ma'am" card and I plan to rock it with pride.
I remember going to my first job and ordering a corn muffin about the size of my face with extra butter every morning; then topping it off with a Hershey Bar with almonds and soda for a snack. Those were the days I could hang out until 4:00 a.m.and turn around and do it all over again. Those were the days when I stared blankly at a woman who commented on my size and said "See - you're not a double digit girl" I had no idea that she meant clothing size.
Exercise was fun - something to do! There was a gym franchise around the corner from my house, on 86th and Lexington, called Living Well Lady, where you'd find the teachers, who were actually dancers, outside on their breaks smoking cigarettes, eating potato chips and sipping soda! Everyone took for granted that they were young and would always look "this good."
I guess I took for granted that I would always look young. Don't get me wrong - I still look young for my age. But the reality is, I look young-er than my age and that is the difference. No matter what routine I do, there's no mistaking that I am solidly middle-aged! No one will mistake me for 20 or 25 anymore. Instead, it's a compliment when they think I'm 35. No one will call me "Miss" anymore; I am firmly in the "Ma'am" category.
I used to be one of those women who said "I'll never dye my hair; when the gray comes, I will wear it with pride and style." Now I try to think of which hairstyle I can wear to cover the increasingly evident gray strands until I can get them colored. I used to say, "Oh I'm still trying to lose the baby weight." Well the "baby" is almost three and a half years old and I am still trying to lose those last six pounds! Once scoffing the idea of Spanx, I reach for them every time I put on a dress. And I have crossed the line into a double-digit girl. I have seen my body go from size 6 to size 8 to size 10.
My 30 year old neighbor, who has son older than my daughter, just celebrated her mother's 50th birthday. I am three years younger than her mother - yet my daughter is younger than her son! That is the funniest thing - in my circle in NY it seemed an anomaly to find a woman who was married with kids before 35. I can name ten women off the top of my head who were married after 35. Now, several of the women I meet here in the DC area with kids my daughter's age, are any where from 10 to 20 years younger than me!
But having my daughter allows me to walk in both worlds. I am forced to climb and run and jump and leap because being the mother of a toddler demands it and I enjoy having younger friends who I am wise enough to know that I can learn from as much as they can learn from me. But I hopefully also have the benefit of my life experiences.
I can honestly say there is not one bone in my body that longs for those younger days. There are some things that I "know for sure." I know that when I hear Adele's gorgeous ballad "Someone Like You," I absolutely cannot relate because I know that at almost 39, I married the right one for me; I know my worth when it comes to my work and my talents and no one can make me think otherwise; I know that, while a few pounds heavier than I was 20 years ago, I am still an attractive, happy and satisfied woman; I know that a song from Biggie or Jay Z will still make me jump out of my seat despite my father's wondering if I'll ever outgrow hip-hop; I know that my daughter is the best thing that ever happened to me and makes weight and age mere things to ponder, but never dwell on.
So I am have to turn in my "Miss" card but I know, with every day, every experience, every creaky body exercise move and every gray hair that sprouts, I have earned my "Ma'am" card and I plan to rock it with pride.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
And the Little One Said Move Over
Park was never really good about sleeping in her bed through the night. When she was born, we were living like "Good Times" at the in-laws. Having sold our house and unable to move yet into a newly built one, we were living in one room with a queen-sized bed, her crib, changing table armoire, a dresser - pretty much everything but the kitchen sink. So we had no where to hide when she woke up in the middle of the night and wanted us - she could look right at us and guilt us into bringing her into our bed.
When we moved to the house she was 16 months old. We'd put her in the bed with us because it was habit, but I knew she needed to learn to sleep on her own. The night she fell out of our very high bed while Larry was out of town was night she learned to stay in her crib and sleep through the night. That peace lasted even when we converted the crib to a "big girl bed." Until that fateful time right before she turned three, when I went out of town for business for about ten days.
While away Larry told me she started coming into the room at night and when I got home I saw that he was right. Of course I never witnessed her actually coming in to the room. [I am a notoriously hard sleeper. Once when living alone in the city and unplugging my phone to sleep, I unknowingly had family and friends in a panic. They called the cops but I didn't even hear them knock on the door. So when they entered the apt and saw my foot hanging off the bed, they told my friend "Ma'am back up and don't touch anything" assuming I was dead. They were all sorely disappointed to learn I was only sleeping!] I would sleep so hard that apparently after attempts to wake me to pick her up, Park gave up and walked to the other side to lobby Larry for assistance. But sure enough I would wake up and find her between us.
My first instinct was to put an immediate end to it as I imagined her at 18 still trying to sleep with us. But I stopped my scheming when Larry said "It's the only time she's closer to me than to you." And I realized that he loved being the one she went to at night, tapping his shoulder and crawling up on his chest to go back to sleep. And I enjoyed her waking up in the middle of the night to grab my face and kiss it.
So six months later, we still don't fight it. Even if she's gotten bigger and now turns like a clock in the bed, kicking us in the face at times. Even when she actually wakes ME up in the morning by telling me that she's hungry - and I beg her for a few more moments of sleep. Even if it means I'll never sleep-in in the foreseeable future. I'm just happy that she at least starts the night in her own bed and never pees in the bed. When I am up working late as I am now and hear her footsteps running down the hallway, I smile because I know her sweet-milky smell will greet me when I arrive upstairs. I'm happy that our bed has become a family bed where she can find love and warmth and kisses. And even though I may wake up sooner than expected and a little worse for the wear, I know that she wakes up feeling loved and secure. So, when the little says "move over" we comply.
When we moved to the house she was 16 months old. We'd put her in the bed with us because it was habit, but I knew she needed to learn to sleep on her own. The night she fell out of our very high bed while Larry was out of town was night she learned to stay in her crib and sleep through the night. That peace lasted even when we converted the crib to a "big girl bed." Until that fateful time right before she turned three, when I went out of town for business for about ten days.
While away Larry told me she started coming into the room at night and when I got home I saw that he was right. Of course I never witnessed her actually coming in to the room. [I am a notoriously hard sleeper. Once when living alone in the city and unplugging my phone to sleep, I unknowingly had family and friends in a panic. They called the cops but I didn't even hear them knock on the door. So when they entered the apt and saw my foot hanging off the bed, they told my friend "Ma'am back up and don't touch anything" assuming I was dead. They were all sorely disappointed to learn I was only sleeping!] I would sleep so hard that apparently after attempts to wake me to pick her up, Park gave up and walked to the other side to lobby Larry for assistance. But sure enough I would wake up and find her between us.
My first instinct was to put an immediate end to it as I imagined her at 18 still trying to sleep with us. But I stopped my scheming when Larry said "It's the only time she's closer to me than to you." And I realized that he loved being the one she went to at night, tapping his shoulder and crawling up on his chest to go back to sleep. And I enjoyed her waking up in the middle of the night to grab my face and kiss it.
So six months later, we still don't fight it. Even if she's gotten bigger and now turns like a clock in the bed, kicking us in the face at times. Even when she actually wakes ME up in the morning by telling me that she's hungry - and I beg her for a few more moments of sleep. Even if it means I'll never sleep-in in the foreseeable future. I'm just happy that she at least starts the night in her own bed and never pees in the bed. When I am up working late as I am now and hear her footsteps running down the hallway, I smile because I know her sweet-milky smell will greet me when I arrive upstairs. I'm happy that our bed has become a family bed where she can find love and warmth and kisses. And even though I may wake up sooner than expected and a little worse for the wear, I know that she wakes up feeling loved and secure. So, when the little says "move over" we comply.
Bad Baby Doll
Park is getting a mind of her own and each day is learning new ways of telling me exactly how she feels. The other week my mom was in town - and when family comes to town I am out all day, everyday, doing something with them. Mom and I had just finished hanging out at Eastern Market but as Park fell asleep in the car, I thought I could sneak in a quick shopping stop. All went well until I was at the register checking out and Park woke up and decided she wanted to get out of her stroller and walk. Side note: Now I know why women have their kids in strollers until they are ten - it's the only way to chain your kid down while you try to have some semblance of a normal public excursion. Anyway, Park started yelling that she wanted to get out and telling the cashier to "hurry up." I tried to ignore her and as I got the last shopping bag in my hand, I pushed the stroller to move out of the line - to no avail. Park took her feet, which can now touch the floor if she takes them off of that little rubber rest thingy, and glued them down onto the floor of the store - which prevented me from moving forward and the line from moving! The more I pushed the stroller the more she splatted them onto the floor. I then decided to demonstrate to all observers what a cool and collected mother I could be by getting down to her level to gently "converse" with her about lifting her feet. As I grabbed them she started moving in a bicycle motion while they were in my hands. It was all I could do to keep from getting kicked in the face. Finally all I DID do was laugh. It was actually hysterical the way she was screaming and we were all held at her mercy. Eventually I guess she thought I was crazier than her and she lifted her feet and we fled out the store.
I am learning that the more hysterical she gets, the quieter I need to be; the more calm I need to be - or else we will both look like two raving lunatics. I was the kid who "dropped and rolled" when I was little and somehow I thought that meant I would have the OPPOSITE in a child. Park is me times 10! I threw tantrums privately at home - for Park, any place is a good place for a tantrum - at church, in the grocery store, at a museum - any where. I NEVER swung at my parents, but Park sees no problem in flailing her arms at me to show her frustration. I don't think I yelled back at my mother - or if I did perhaps I wasn't conscious enough to remember after she surely knocked me out! But Parker has this grunting thing that she does to inflect her demands. How did I get this crazy, strong-willed kid that my sister nick-named Bad Baby Doll?
Maybe she is my lesson in life to be patient; to greet aggression with calmness, to try to find another approach to facing a challenge. With all of the craziness, I know she gets that way with me because I am the person she trusts the most. I am the one she feels free with; I am the one she can share her true self with. So I am the one who has the privilege of her tantrums. But I'll take it - for four and a half years we tried to get a baby in on lives, so I'll take all that comes with it - and remember to duck and move!
I am learning that the more hysterical she gets, the quieter I need to be; the more calm I need to be - or else we will both look like two raving lunatics. I was the kid who "dropped and rolled" when I was little and somehow I thought that meant I would have the OPPOSITE in a child. Park is me times 10! I threw tantrums privately at home - for Park, any place is a good place for a tantrum - at church, in the grocery store, at a museum - any where. I NEVER swung at my parents, but Park sees no problem in flailing her arms at me to show her frustration. I don't think I yelled back at my mother - or if I did perhaps I wasn't conscious enough to remember after she surely knocked me out! But Parker has this grunting thing that she does to inflect her demands. How did I get this crazy, strong-willed kid that my sister nick-named Bad Baby Doll?
Maybe she is my lesson in life to be patient; to greet aggression with calmness, to try to find another approach to facing a challenge. With all of the craziness, I know she gets that way with me because I am the person she trusts the most. I am the one she feels free with; I am the one she can share her true self with. So I am the one who has the privilege of her tantrums. But I'll take it - for four and a half years we tried to get a baby in on lives, so I'll take all that comes with it - and remember to duck and move!
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