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Aug 15 2011
10 Comments
Blogging, Child Care, Facebook, Friends, Lemons, Me, Myself and I, Vacation, Work

On Friendship: My Failure and Renewed Hope

I’ve not always been the best friend. I’ve hurt. And I’ve been hurt. I’ve moved away. I’ve been deserted. After Scoot and I became serious during my junior year of high school, I – intentionally or not – swore off trying very hard at friendship. What was the point?

The girls who were my age were trying to get as far away from their parents as possible while I was devoting my entire being to keeping alive my long-distance relationship with Scoot, whose mom lives just two miles from my own. They were planning for their post-college travels around the world while I was planning my wedding in our hometown. They were renting apartments with roommates in Los Angeles and New York and San Francisco while I took out a mortgage on a home in the suburbs with room for a nursery for my young son. I had a very hard time relating.

Women who were in a similar life stage to me were planning their weddings while shuffling their meeting schedules at work. They were spending $1600 a month on nannies while I was making grocery shopping lists to include ramen, Hamburger Helper and macaroni and cheese so I could afford the $200 per week I had to spend on daycare. And at work, when I sat down for my annual review, it was they who would evaluate me on my performance throughout the prior year. I had a very hard time relating.

Recently, in large part because of what I discovered when I was introduced to the world of online social networks, I have established friendships. With genuine friends. The kind with whom I can gossip about that girl. The kind with whom I can lament about my day. The kind with whom I can share my frustrations and fears and tears and hopes. The kind with whom I laugh. And laugh. And text. And laugh.

In return, they’ve shared their loves, their losses, their triumphs, their sorrows. I hear about what they ate for breakfast and minutes later, the one thing they want their kids to know about them if they meet their end prematurely. I hear about the guy who tried to talk to them when they’re happily married. I get advice about health matters. I advise them on their resumes. I get drunk texts. With pictures!

I’ve been kept company in the hospital for 48 hours through a small device that meant constant conversation. I’ve watched a minor illness turn into a major health problem. With IVs. And surgeries. And tests. And uncertainty. I’ve seen pregnancy test strips and ultrasounds and newly born babies and crawling toddlers. I’ve celebrated romance and birthdays and New Year’s Eve and just because. I’ve watched them jump out of airplanes, and jump into love. I’ve watched doubt and despair and divorce. I’ve seen them hurt and healed.

I’ve felt. I’ve felt friendship. I’ve felt all that it can be. I’ve felt all that I missed during that decade or so when I just didn’t feel like I could relate to my peers.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my fears that I’ve deluded myself. Certainly the friend ending her relationship, that was never married, that makes more than I do, that makes less than me, that! has! nothing! but! girls! …certainly we will find something that divides us. And yet, thankfully, they’re still here. I’m still here, a believer in friendship.

I’m about to head out on a weekend away with one of my dearest friends with our four!!! boys all under the age of 9 (unfortunately, Bop can’t make it because of school). I’m looking forward to it for selfish reasons, and not so selfish ones. And when I come back I have another friend coming to visit, one who just moved to the area and who I hope to see much more often. And six weeks from now I’ll be celebrating yet another’s birthday with friends from around the country.  

Ends up, I’m kind of digging this friend thing. And as simple and easy as that sounds, I have a very hard time explaining just how happy it makes me and how sincerely appreciative I am to be able to say it.

Mar 01 2010
5 Comments
Child Care, Food, My Boys, Parenting

Curry Celebration

A childhood friend posted as her Facebook status this question: “How long does it take for the smell of curry to get out of your house after you cook it?” I wanted to reply, “With luck, never.”

I decided not to because that response sounds so bizarre. The smell of curry to me, however, makes me as nostalgic for my oldest’s youth as does baby powder or Johnson & Johnson’s baby lotion.

When it neared time for me to return to work after having D, none of the handful of daycare centers we’d toured in downtown DC had openings because of their years-long waiting lists. (Diplotots, the State Department’s daycare center, had a 2 year wait list for the infant room. Pregnancy lasts 9 months, you do the math and tell me how that is logical.) I turned to my employee assistance program and got the name of a number of in-home child care providers and scheduled time to meet them.

We fell in love with the second one we talked to. Her name was Rajwan, but she asked us to call her Raj. She had a graduate degree in early childhood education but immigrated from India and started a daycare in her home when her daughter had a child. Her granddaughter had since grown but she kept up her business.

At the time of our visit she had five other toddlers enrolled. D was the only infant. Her helper watched the older kids and she snuggled D all day long. He was very spoiled.

She’d make herself and her helper curry-flavored foods for lunch every day. Everything of D’s would come home smelling of it: his clothes, car seat, blankets. I wasn’t exactly pleased at first. At the time I wasn’t a huge fan of the spice. But as the weeks passed, it became more than the smell of her lunch on his things. It became the smell of D.

It was the smell I snuggled against as I nursed him, quietly reconnecting after a day apart.

I’ve heard that the part of the brain that processes scent is right next to the part that processes memory. For this, I’m grateful. To this day, the smell of curry reminds me of my sweet little baby D. Once the smell of curry passes my nose, I never want it to leave.

It instantly, emotionally takes me back to D’s infancy and for just a second, I forget about the big boy he’s become. I remember the uncertainty, fear, joy, elation that comes along with being a new mother. I remember the moment I looked into his eyes and committed myself to him. I remember how much he needed me and I him. But just for a second.

Immediately I’m snapped back to the equally as awesome reality of watching him grow from a baby to a boy. And I look forward with excitement and trepidation at watching him grow from a boy to a man.

Tomorrow is D’s Half Birthday (the first we’ve been asked to celebrate). We don’t have plans yet, but I was thinking of maybe making curry.

Aug 20 2009
2 Comments
Child Care, Elementary School, Facebook, Friends, Me, Myself and I, My Boys, Parenting

The Last Battle

Parenting is so often about fighting the last battle. It’s so often about protecting our kids from our heartaches only to give them a whole new set all their own. I know I can’t protect my boys from all heartache. Yet it is that rational understanding that my emotions are trampling all over right now.

My parents have lived in the same house for the past 21 years, more than two-thirds of my life. But before that, in my very early childhood, I went through a lot of moves, both in residence and in schools. I was born in Michigan. I moved to the suburbs of St. Louis when I was 2. It was in that small townhouse that I made my earliest memories. We moved to a suburb further north when I was 4. I started in preschool. I then went to another pre-kindergarten program. Then I moved on to kindergarten in our neighborhood school. I was in that school through second grade. During the following summer we moved to Fremont, California. I entered third grade there, but moved yet again in February to Palo Alto, the city I now call my hometown.

By my 10th birthday I didn’t have a single friend who knew me more than 9 months. Some of my friends went to Kindergarten together, some preschool. Hell two of my friends’ moms were roommates at the hospital when they were born. They literally knew each other since birth.

I know other people have had it worse than me, but in my 9 year old, friendless mind moving was the most horrific thing a parent could do to their child. Sure, I had no problems making new friends, but I had no history with them. I was without a past.

My sister was much more open about the social troubles moving had caused, which seemed to make sense as she was 11, just entering adolescence, when we left St. Louis. I, on the other hand, internalized it and simply swore to myself that I would make sure that my kids stayed settled, have lifelong friends and a history with people outside of their families.

The move from Virginia to California pretty much solidified that that isn’t going to happen for D. We keep in touch with our friends who have a son 3 weeks older than him. They really were friends at birth. They trick-or-treated together on their first (real) Halloween. But D hasn’t seen him since he was two and I’m not sure he remembers him.

When we moved to California, we put D and B in the same daycare center. There have been transitions from room-to-room, and friends have come and gone. We went through an especially rough patch last year when we decided to have D repeat the pre-K program while every other kid in his class went on to kindergarten. Luckily one of his best friends’ brother stayed at the school, and his mom is on Facebook, so we’ve been able to stay in touch that way. I’ve added two other kids’ parents as well, so we can try to get the kids together to play.

The friend I’m most sad about D leaving is his “girlfriend”, M, mostly because she lives in LA. (Her mom had a job that brought her up here so she rented an apartment and brought M along with her. Her dad is in LA, as is her kindergarten.) She writes D love letters. (Her mom told me that M wouldn’t show her the letters. She was too embarrassed). D cuts out and colors hearts and seals them in an envelope for her. I really don’t know where they get this stuff, seriously. But it’s adorable puppy love.

Well, today is M’s last day. Tomorrow is D and B’s last day. And I’m sitting here crying as I type this. I’m not totally sure what I’m crying about.

It’s not M that I’m crying about, though she is a sweet, adorable, loyal friend to D. He ran to his room last night crying. He didn’t want to talk about it but I heard him up there, and heard B asking, “What’s wrong?” He was sad that he wasn’t going to be going to school with her and his other friends. He wants to stay at his old school. We told him that none of his friends were staying (which he rationally totally understands), but leaving M, knowing that she’s going back to LA (what can I say, my kid knows geography) is breaking his little heart.

I’m not really crying about D getting older and going to kindergarten. Growing up is something that should be celebrated, not mourned. And though I make jokes asking where has the time gone, I know that he’s ready for this next step in his life. I’m proud of him. He’s going to do great.

I’m not crying, yet, about B. See, in all of this B doesn’t have a clue. He doesn’t know that next week he’s going to have to go to a new school in a new building with a new schedule taught by new teachers in a new class with new friends. Sure we drive by the school and wave and say “Hi new school!” but he doesn’t really understand. I suspect next Tuesday is going to be extremely unpleasant for him and for me. I’ll be crying then too.

I’m not crying about new schools. I know that going through these changes is going to be hard on them, but I know they can handle it. I know that moving from preschool to kindergarten or from one preschool to another is not the most difficult thing either of them will go through. I know they’re both awesome and will make new friends quickly.

I think I’m crying because every time we make one of these transitions, we lose a friend. Sometimes it’s two. Sometimes it’s an entire class. We lose a person who connects us with our past, a person with whom we share an experience and a history that only they and we can understand. I’m crying because I really wish there was a way that I could protect my kids from the heartache that comes from losing a little piece of them when they go through these changes. I’m crying because I miss those little pieces of me that I’ve left behind on my own journey through life. And I’m crying because I know that I’m fighting the last battle and it’s one that I already lost.

Aug 01 2009
2 Comments
Blogging, Child Care, Elementary School, Family, Health & Exercise, Me, Myself and I

31 Days

This year is flying by. (Can you believe it’s August already?) In many ways I feel like my life is flying by. Things that are important to me, like eating right, exercising, writing, etc. are often thrown by the wayside in exchange for ease, convenience or, quite often, down time.

This month is bringing some big changes for our family. Starting Monday, Scoot is moving to an earlier schedule (6:30 am – 3 pm) so that he can take care of after school pick-ups. D will be starting Kindergarten and B will be enrolling in a new preschool. These are major disruptions for us, as Scoot and I have been commuting together since 2001 and each of our sons has been part of that since birth. Our car has become a moving family room or kitchen table, the place where we talk about our days at work and school, discuss matters both frivolous and serious, and make decisions large and small. Because I know these changes will bring a lot of stress, I know it’s even more important for me to focus on those things that provide me with physical and emotional nourishment.

For the next month, I’ll be trying to blog blogging daily, and redoing the 30 Day Shred with a new shredding buddy (who has yet to be assigned to me). I’m also going to focus on treating my body better by eating and drinking those things that will help me deal with the physical aspects of stress.

I hope you’ll check back often and come along this journey with me. If not, at least check back on September 1st to see if I survived. ;)

Feb 22 2009
1 Comment
Child Care, Food, Parenting

What Are They Teaching These Kids?

In the five years that son #1 has been in daycare, we’ve been through the gamut of child care options. From in-home to stay-at-home and two national chains, I’ve come to deeply admire early childhood educators and have much to say on how underappreciated they are in this country. I was reminded of this again this month, as son #1 came home and took my breath away with what he’d learned.

Each year during the month of February, the curriculum at the boys’ current preschool includes discussions of healthy eating. This is well-timed, of course, because of the craziness that has become Valentine’s Day. Parents are encouraged not to send candy to school and, instead, contribute healthy items to their Valentine’s Day celebration. (This year I made applesauce, using some of the 30 pounds of Fuji apples that my mother-in-law brought us last month.)

This year, it was clear that son #1 was really listening as “Ms. P” discussed healthy food. When he came home, he told us, “Hamburgers and french fries aren’t healthy. If you eat them, your blood gets stuck in your heart and you say, ‘Owww.’”

We went through the week chuckling at his healthy revelation, and, I admit, I had him repeat it to everyone we visited when we went to the Bay this weekend. But the clincher came when we returned home on Saturday and I suggested reheating some chicken, broccoli and, yes, french fries we had leftover from Thursday’s dinner.

Son #1 refused. “Fine, you don’t have to have any. Daddy and I will eat it,” I retorted, not wanting to waste food.

“But your blood will get stuck in your heart,” he said. “I don’t want your heart to hurt.”

And that, my friends, sealed the deal. I can’t promise I’ll never eat french fries again. But man, the boy was right. And, after all, if I want him to make healthy choices, I’ve got to walk the walk, not just talk the talk.

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