I am fortunate enough to have a husband who works, and unfortunate enough to have a husband who travels frequently. Sometimes, they're even home at the same time and then things really get awkward. (Sorry. I have a secret love of Mormon housewife blogs and sometimes I unintentionally pick up their wryly serene tone.)
Really, though, it's tough. Tough on me, but much easier than it used to be, in the times before I got used to how it felt to have a partner share your home and then leave for a week or two and then, just when it was beginning to feel like a new sort of normal to live on your own again, have them walk back in the door, only to leave again a week later. Now I'm used to that hectic-ness, and look forward to one day not having to deal with it quite as often as I do now. Then again, my mom copes with the same thing because my dad still travels regularly for work, so maybe it's just a lifestyle to get used to.
A lifestyle for adults to get used to. I'm starting to understand that for a kid, it's much harder.
My memories of Dad traveling when I was a kid are hazy. He'd be gone for a week, to Dayton or Oklahoma City, and when he'd got home, if I was lucky, I'd get a present, so that was cool. I don't remember it being tough. But I see it becoming tough for Sadie.
She's a hop, skip and a jump away from 2 years old now, and old enough to understand the passage of time. She's also at a point where routine is everything. It has always been important, but now it's crucial. We have a routine for meals, a routine for saying goodbye when Ana arrives in the morning, and a very long routine for going to bed that involves EXACTLY THREE STORIES while sitting on Mommy's lap and then walking around the room saying goodnight to every single object she has ever owned or will own, ever.
Daddy is a big part of that routine, and now he's not here. (He also doesn't read this blog, or else he'd guilt-trip me into infinity for saying this.) He gets home right around her bedtime, too late to really hang out together, so usually he gets up with her in the morning and fixes her a bottle. He checks his email while she sits in his lap and watches "Sesame Street." I get up a little bit later, but not too quickly, because I know this is their hang-out time and it's important. Also, I really like to sleep in.
Okay, now that I've become maudlin, here's a quick rundown of what our week has been like with Scott out of town.
Monday: Nothing out of the ordinary. We meet my friend Birge and her daughter Nova at the zoo. Sadie seems to be starting a phase wherein she wants to do crazy things like lie down on the dirty ground outside the orangutan house and declare that she's "sleeping." Scott's not there when I tuck her in, but that happens often, so I chalk up her behavior to a typical toddler phase.
Tuesday: Up at 5:45 am. WTF? She's begun to suspect something's amiss. Ana arrives and she whines, wanting to stay in my lap, but is easily diverted by the promise of taking the dogs for a walk, and a moment later toddles off hand-in-hand with Ana. That night, she gets into one of her cranky moods which can only be appeased by torturing the dogs and running around in circles until she falls down and cries because it's my fault.
Wednesday: Up at 6:30. When Ana walks in the door at 8:30, Sadie bursts into tears and orders her to leave. To say that this is unusual behavior is like saying that Cookie Monster rejecting an Oreo is unusual behavior. Fuck, even my analogies have Muppets in them. We drive to my parents' house for dinner, and she threatens a meltdown the whole way Her angelic behavior with my parents lasts until approximately 30 seconds after I've put her back in her car seat for the drive home, after which she fusses and cries for almost the entire hour that it takes to get home.
(Wednesday night addendum: She wakes up at least four times. That I can remember.)
Thursday: Up at 5:45. There is not enough coffee in the world. When Ana arrives, Sadie looks at her, looks back at me, and HITS ME ON THE ARM as hard as she can. I'm starting to get that she's mad at me. Thursday evening I take her to visit Marcia and Mirk, my grandparents, whom she hasn't seen in a month or two. She's good for about 45 minutes and then she crawls into my arms, closes her eyes and refuses to look at anyone. Bedtime at 6:15.
Friday: ???? Oh, right, Scott's home! Thank God.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Summer Plans
I used to secretly judge parents who lined up nonstop classes and activities for their very young kids. I used to secretly judge parents for a lot of things, come to think of it.
But now, being the primary guardian of a toddler, I do so no longer. Kids this age are very active, require constant supervision, have nonexistent attention spans, and will burn through every toy in the house and begin whining with boredom by 9am.
I didn't realize just how reliant I was on organized activities for Sadie until last week's toddler group. The director reminded us that beginning in July, they will institute a pay-per-class option until the fall semester begins in September. We've opted out of the pay-per-class, since there are plenty of cheaper options out there and her spot in the fall toddler program is already reserved, so we don't need to worry about her losing her spot.
What I do need to worry about is how I'm going to fill a new blank spot in our schedule: Friday afternoons. "Winging it" is not an option, I'm sorry -- the park has already lost its appeal, and if we stay home all day then we both wind up wanting to kill each other.
So, for anyone interested, here are a few of the classes and activities I'm going to be doing with my under-two-years-old daughter this summer. No mockery allowed.
Gymboree
Ah, Gymboree. I've avoided you for so long, and now that I've finally caved, I can see that you are going to be like sweet, sweet crack for both me and my child. Gymboree involves a giant, padded, multi-room playspace and a teacher named Roxanna who speaks with an EXTREMELY LOUD VOICE and SINGS EVERYTHING AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS. She instructs the children LOUDLY for about 45 minutes, as they climb stairs, throw balls, play with bubbles and shake a big, colored parachute around. Remember those parachutes from when you were a kid? I'm glad to see they're still around. Oh, she also shakes a frightening little clown hand puppet named "Gymbo" in the faces of frightened children.
Swim Class
I refuse to think of this as a "class," and it's definitely not a "lesson." It is, however, held at a swim school. It's pretty much just a bunch of moms in a pool, holding their kids' heads above water and instructing them to kick. Sadie couldn't care less about the kicking part (She's all, "what are you gonna do if I don't kick? Drop me? I don't think so.") but she adores being in the water, and a mere half hour of pool time exhausts her for the rest of the morning. So this is a definite once a week "do."
Library Storytime
We've actually been doing this for the past six months. It's a reliable time-killer, with a librarian leading maybe a dozen kids in stretches, songs and book-reading. The library is right next to the park, so on the days when Sadie doesn't feel like sitting in one spot for 30 minutes, we can escape to a place where she can stretch her legs, run around and pick up one communicable disease or another.
I've also begun compiling a list of non-organized activities that are fun to do, but require more time management and attention, since there's no teacher or instructor taking charge of things. For now, they include Kidspace, the Zimmer Museum, and the LA Zoo. AKA places I never had any interest in going until the day I gave birth.
But now, being the primary guardian of a toddler, I do so no longer. Kids this age are very active, require constant supervision, have nonexistent attention spans, and will burn through every toy in the house and begin whining with boredom by 9am.
I didn't realize just how reliant I was on organized activities for Sadie until last week's toddler group. The director reminded us that beginning in July, they will institute a pay-per-class option until the fall semester begins in September. We've opted out of the pay-per-class, since there are plenty of cheaper options out there and her spot in the fall toddler program is already reserved, so we don't need to worry about her losing her spot.
What I do need to worry about is how I'm going to fill a new blank spot in our schedule: Friday afternoons. "Winging it" is not an option, I'm sorry -- the park has already lost its appeal, and if we stay home all day then we both wind up wanting to kill each other.
So, for anyone interested, here are a few of the classes and activities I'm going to be doing with my under-two-years-old daughter this summer. No mockery allowed.
Gymboree
Ah, Gymboree. I've avoided you for so long, and now that I've finally caved, I can see that you are going to be like sweet, sweet crack for both me and my child. Gymboree involves a giant, padded, multi-room playspace and a teacher named Roxanna who speaks with an EXTREMELY LOUD VOICE and SINGS EVERYTHING AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS. She instructs the children LOUDLY for about 45 minutes, as they climb stairs, throw balls, play with bubbles and shake a big, colored parachute around. Remember those parachutes from when you were a kid? I'm glad to see they're still around. Oh, she also shakes a frightening little clown hand puppet named "Gymbo" in the faces of frightened children.
Swim Class
I refuse to think of this as a "class," and it's definitely not a "lesson." It is, however, held at a swim school. It's pretty much just a bunch of moms in a pool, holding their kids' heads above water and instructing them to kick. Sadie couldn't care less about the kicking part (She's all, "what are you gonna do if I don't kick? Drop me? I don't think so.") but she adores being in the water, and a mere half hour of pool time exhausts her for the rest of the morning. So this is a definite once a week "do."
Library Storytime
We've actually been doing this for the past six months. It's a reliable time-killer, with a librarian leading maybe a dozen kids in stretches, songs and book-reading. The library is right next to the park, so on the days when Sadie doesn't feel like sitting in one spot for 30 minutes, we can escape to a place where she can stretch her legs, run around and pick up one communicable disease or another.
I've also begun compiling a list of non-organized activities that are fun to do, but require more time management and attention, since there's no teacher or instructor taking charge of things. For now, they include Kidspace, the Zimmer Museum, and the LA Zoo. AKA places I never had any interest in going until the day I gave birth.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Land Escape
A few months ago, we decided that the six giant eucalyptus trees in our front yard had to go. Those six, asymmetrically planted behemoths that dotted the northern border of our otherwise featureless lawn were starting to get out of hand.
This was a tough decision. Neither of us are tree haters. In fact, my left-leaning, vegetarian-embracing education taught me that trees are inhabited by the souls of nature's wisest, gentlest guardians, so cutting one down was tantamount to throwing your grandma into a stump grinder.
Nevertheless, the damned things had to go. They were old, old and bushy. Not bushy in a harmless way, but bushy in the kind of way that tangles itself in electrical lines and hangs big plugs of leaf matter onto your roof, as if to grin and say, "Man, any of us ever catches on fire, you guys are SCREWED!"
The neighbors didn't like this idea of cutting the trees. That bothered us a lot, because we have a deep seated need to be liked and accepted by our neighbors. So we waffled a lot about it. At one point we were just going to trim them; another time we'd decided only to cut down a few and leave the others.
But then this winter happened. And every time a wind storm arrived, and we watched these big, rickety trees sway back and forth against our house, I'd imagine one of them tipping over and crashing into my daughter's bedroom at 3am. "Everyone in the neighborhood new one of those trees would go, sooner or later," someone would tell a news reporter. I WAS NOT GOING TO LET THAT HAPPEN.
So we removed the damn things, every one of them. What we were left with was a boring grid of lawn, dotted with large brown splotches where a tree had previously been. No flowers; few plants. One sad little concrete walkway, leading up to an equally sad stoop, both painted dark red so that, from a few blocks away, they might convince someone that they were brick.
It was time for a change.
So we did it. And we did it right. We researched many landscape designers, settling on one company that our neighbors highly recommended and who really seemed to know what they were talking about. (Eco-Landscape in Valley Village in case you're wondering.)
One thing we kept in mind as we worked out the design was: Let's Do This Once, and Let's Do it Right. In other words, we wanted to respect our budget, but we also wanted to get the most possible out of that budget. The wishlist we presented them with was enormous.
It included brick pathways, extending from the (real brick) front stoop down to the driveway and then also down to the street, finally curving around beneath Sadie's window to create a little bricked sitting area.
We asked for them to figure out a way to widen our narrow driveway without compromising the design, and they came up with a warm, rusty flagstone that blended beautifully into the brickwork.
We asked for as many California native plants as possible, and where those wouldn't work, we asked for plants requiring minimal water. On top of that, I begged them to avoid all of those archetypical desert plants -- cactus, spiny, pokey stuff -- that to me, send more of a message of "get away, I will stab you" then one of "Welcome to our home."
The landscapers went away and came back with a beautiful plan. We looked at that plan. We said "oooh," a lot. And, to make a long story short, we eventually told them that our lawn was their playhouse and they should treat it as such.
That was three weeks ago, and since then they've been working their asses off in our front yard every single day. Sadie is so used to the sawing and the machinery and the truck engines now that they don't even wake her up from her daily nap.
Today, they finally finished the hardscape and put in the plants. And this...this is pretty close to how it's eventually going to look. It looks like a real garden.
When you look at this picture, imagine a table and chairs sitting on the brick beneath Sadie's front window. The oval area directly in front will be seeded, and grass will eventually fill it in. The purple plum will become a pretty, sweet-shade giving tree in the corner, and the Sycamore, in a few decades, will tower over most of the other trees on our block.
This was a tough decision. Neither of us are tree haters. In fact, my left-leaning, vegetarian-embracing education taught me that trees are inhabited by the souls of nature's wisest, gentlest guardians, so cutting one down was tantamount to throwing your grandma into a stump grinder.
Nevertheless, the damned things had to go. They were old, old and bushy. Not bushy in a harmless way, but bushy in the kind of way that tangles itself in electrical lines and hangs big plugs of leaf matter onto your roof, as if to grin and say, "Man, any of us ever catches on fire, you guys are SCREWED!"
The neighbors didn't like this idea of cutting the trees. That bothered us a lot, because we have a deep seated need to be liked and accepted by our neighbors. So we waffled a lot about it. At one point we were just going to trim them; another time we'd decided only to cut down a few and leave the others.
But then this winter happened. And every time a wind storm arrived, and we watched these big, rickety trees sway back and forth against our house, I'd imagine one of them tipping over and crashing into my daughter's bedroom at 3am. "Everyone in the neighborhood new one of those trees would go, sooner or later," someone would tell a news reporter. I WAS NOT GOING TO LET THAT HAPPEN.
So we removed the damn things, every one of them. What we were left with was a boring grid of lawn, dotted with large brown splotches where a tree had previously been. No flowers; few plants. One sad little concrete walkway, leading up to an equally sad stoop, both painted dark red so that, from a few blocks away, they might convince someone that they were brick.
It was time for a change.
So we did it. And we did it right. We researched many landscape designers, settling on one company that our neighbors highly recommended and who really seemed to know what they were talking about. (Eco-Landscape in Valley Village in case you're wondering.)
One thing we kept in mind as we worked out the design was: Let's Do This Once, and Let's Do it Right. In other words, we wanted to respect our budget, but we also wanted to get the most possible out of that budget. The wishlist we presented them with was enormous.
It included brick pathways, extending from the (real brick) front stoop down to the driveway and then also down to the street, finally curving around beneath Sadie's window to create a little bricked sitting area.
We asked for them to figure out a way to widen our narrow driveway without compromising the design, and they came up with a warm, rusty flagstone that blended beautifully into the brickwork.
We asked for as many California native plants as possible, and where those wouldn't work, we asked for plants requiring minimal water. On top of that, I begged them to avoid all of those archetypical desert plants -- cactus, spiny, pokey stuff -- that to me, send more of a message of "get away, I will stab you" then one of "Welcome to our home."
The landscapers went away and came back with a beautiful plan. We looked at that plan. We said "oooh," a lot. And, to make a long story short, we eventually told them that our lawn was their playhouse and they should treat it as such.
That was three weeks ago, and since then they've been working their asses off in our front yard every single day. Sadie is so used to the sawing and the machinery and the truck engines now that they don't even wake her up from her daily nap.
Today, they finally finished the hardscape and put in the plants. And this...this is pretty close to how it's eventually going to look. It looks like a real garden.
When you look at this picture, imagine a table and chairs sitting on the brick beneath Sadie's front window. The oval area directly in front will be seeded, and grass will eventually fill it in. The purple plum will become a pretty, sweet-shade giving tree in the corner, and the Sycamore, in a few decades, will tower over most of the other trees on our block.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Table Manners
I knew that ONE DAY there would come a day when mealtime did not equal food all over the table, the dogs licking particles off the floor, and a giant food-ring all over her face.
I just hadn't realized that that day would be (sniffle) TODAY.
I just hadn't realized that that day would be (sniffle) TODAY.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Happy.
I freaking love being a mom.
I looked around the other day and wondered what felt so weird. Then realize what it was: I'm fulfilled, dammit. I never knew what it was like to feel like I had everything I wanted. I don't know how long this will last, but while it does I'd like to hold onto it.
I used to worry that having kids would be a drag -- that it would cramp my style (ha), make me unable to fit into my jeans, turn my hair gray, distract me from the other things in life that mattered: having a job, maintaining friendships with the people I love, having a little time out of every day for myself. b
But the opposite has been true: my life is more fun now that I have a kid, and in ways I never thought it would be. Sure, I always imagined that going to Disneyland with my child would be a good time. But what I didn't realize is that the simple acts of everyday life would be made fun and interesting because I now see them from my daughter's perspective.
Sadie finds wonder in everything. When we checked into the hotel last weekend in Sunnyvale, she became fascinated by the pattern on the carpet. "Many, many grapes," she explained to us in the sort of hushed tones you'd reserve for meandering around, say, the Roman Coliseum. And when we're in the car and she asks for "More fingers," I know it means she wants me to reach into the car seat and pretend that my hand is gobbling her up so she can grab my fingers and shriek with laughter, a game that amuses her for miles.
Last year was hard. Life was impossible to predict, and it felt out of control. I wanted routine and I couldn't find it. Sadie wanted to do so many things she couldn't, and it made her frustrated and afraid when I wasn't there to take care of her. I had no regular exercise routine, no job.
Now, I finally feel that for a short time at least, we have achieved normalcy. Ana came into our lives, took my daughter by the hand, and sent me away to go do other things for a few hours a day. I started being able to do things like get my nails done every once in awhile. (It's amazing what a manicure can do for sanity.) And most important for my own sense of well-being, I began doing regular freelance writing again -- work that I love, that makes me happy, that I am good at and want more of.
Last week, my old friend Aaron came into town for a visit. We didn't have a lot of time (we never do), but I gave him a ride into the city and we chatted on the way over. When he asked me how things have been going, I struggled for words. "Things are...I'm...it's good. It's all really good."
What I meant was, for the first time possibly in my entire life, I can't find anything to complain about. And while I'm sure that will change soon enough, for now I'm going to close my eyes and enjoy it.
I looked around the other day and wondered what felt so weird. Then realize what it was: I'm fulfilled, dammit. I never knew what it was like to feel like I had everything I wanted. I don't know how long this will last, but while it does I'd like to hold onto it.
I used to worry that having kids would be a drag -- that it would cramp my style (ha), make me unable to fit into my jeans, turn my hair gray, distract me from the other things in life that mattered: having a job, maintaining friendships with the people I love, having a little time out of every day for myself. b
But the opposite has been true: my life is more fun now that I have a kid, and in ways I never thought it would be. Sure, I always imagined that going to Disneyland with my child would be a good time. But what I didn't realize is that the simple acts of everyday life would be made fun and interesting because I now see them from my daughter's perspective.
Sadie finds wonder in everything. When we checked into the hotel last weekend in Sunnyvale, she became fascinated by the pattern on the carpet. "Many, many grapes," she explained to us in the sort of hushed tones you'd reserve for meandering around, say, the Roman Coliseum. And when we're in the car and she asks for "More fingers," I know it means she wants me to reach into the car seat and pretend that my hand is gobbling her up so she can grab my fingers and shriek with laughter, a game that amuses her for miles.
Last year was hard. Life was impossible to predict, and it felt out of control. I wanted routine and I couldn't find it. Sadie wanted to do so many things she couldn't, and it made her frustrated and afraid when I wasn't there to take care of her. I had no regular exercise routine, no job.
Now, I finally feel that for a short time at least, we have achieved normalcy. Ana came into our lives, took my daughter by the hand, and sent me away to go do other things for a few hours a day. I started being able to do things like get my nails done every once in awhile. (It's amazing what a manicure can do for sanity.) And most important for my own sense of well-being, I began doing regular freelance writing again -- work that I love, that makes me happy, that I am good at and want more of.
Last week, my old friend Aaron came into town for a visit. We didn't have a lot of time (we never do), but I gave him a ride into the city and we chatted on the way over. When he asked me how things have been going, I struggled for words. "Things are...I'm...it's good. It's all really good."
What I meant was, for the first time possibly in my entire life, I can't find anything to complain about. And while I'm sure that will change soon enough, for now I'm going to close my eyes and enjoy it.
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