Here

Soon I will be here. My soul reviver. My happy place. My beach. 

Exhale.

A Dinner in the Life

Mom, it's a Mexican restaurant. What's with the camera? Seriously. What's the big deal? I'm tired.

 

But not too tired to get crazy! Which obviously requires a tongue sticking out. Graham, look at me! My tongue is so funny!!!!

Where are my shoooooooeess? Did I wear shoes here? Why do shoes always jump off my feeeeeeet? I don't need shoes!

Graham, put your arm around me. Look how cute! Let's put our heads together. We are cuuuuuute! Ooh, chips! Chips! CHIPS!

Okay, NOW let's be even funnier and cuter by making CRAZY faces! We are so cra-zeeeeeee!

I know! Cheesy grins! Oh. So. Funneeee!!!  I can't stop laughing at how funny we are! And cute! Did you get that, Mom? Oh, what is this food on my plate? Am I supposed to eat it? Nah. Prob not. Let's get boxes! We need lots of boxes! Does anyone know where my shoes are? I'm going to go use the bathroom BY MYSELF! Wheeeee! GOING OUT TO DINNER IS SO FUN!

I'm Alive!

It's been a fast summer. So fast, I never did find time to tell you about it here.

But I'm back now, looking forward to the fall and many changes in our neck of the woods. More to come on that. In the meantime, feel free to start visiting me again more regularly and I'll promise to keep the cobwebs clear here.

Deal?

And while we're agreeing, I hope you'll agree to come check out my latest post at ModernMom.com where I revisit my undergrad (ahem, honors-level, ahem) two-year independent study on the effects of advertising to kids in perpetuating gender stereotypes. It's a topic that has stuck with me, and now as a marketer and a mother of two little boys, it pops into my brain time and again. I'm talking about a recent observation of that research in my real life and would love to know what you think.

The patience of a funny bunny

Fast asleep, he clutches the same bunny I clutched 30-some years ago.This kid. He slays me with his heart, bigger than his little body. He balances out the crazy chaos of our Hawks nest.

I like to tell myself he loves this bunny so much because it was once mine. Even though he wanted to cut the bunny's whiskers off with scissors. I noticed recently the bunny now has whiskers on just one side.

To me, the bunny was Jelly Bean. To him, Funny Bunny (and sometimes Margo). How funny that this bunny, claimed and saved from the depths of Mimi's basement storage boxes could be so revived. His musty smell now gone. Instantly best friends with this big-hearted kid.

Funny Bunny waited patiently on the driveway last night while Reid rode his bike all around the cul-de-sac. Then he waited patiently outside Reid's door in the hallway while we read bedtime stories.

"Where did you find him?" he asked, relieved, after I brought him to my tucked-in little man.

"He was waiting for you, right outside your door," I smiled.

What a patient bunny. He certainly had been waiting. And now he is so loved, clutched tightly just under the peaceful breath of a little one, once again.

You're Doing a Good Job

There was something I needed to hear. I didn’t realize it until an average weekday afternoon, when I heard it and my eyes surprised me by getting wet. Like unbeknownst to me the tears had been gathering behind them for a few strong weeks but those words put a big crack in the dam.

“You’re doing a good job.”

When is the last time you heard it? That you are doing a good job as a mother?

For me, it came not as an obligatory Mother’s Day golf clap, but on a random Friday afternoon in the midst of specialist appointments for both boys. The school principal and I had A Conversation. And it was mostly about how I have no more capacity for negative. Even if you never told me one time how difficult my child is, I would still know. I know my child. I know he bounces off the walls and marches to his own drummer and gets stuck on things inside his mind that other kids would never even notice. I know his energy can zap that of adults around him. Tell me something you like about him.

Since I was pregnant with my first hawklet, the downright-scary-at-times labels have come: “Spina bifida.” “Non-stress tests.” “Speech delay.” “Generalized Anxiety Disorder.” “Perfectionist.” “ADHD.” And with the other one: “MRI.” “Albinism.” “Nystagmus.” “Esotropia.” “IEP.”  Welcome to parenthood.

The negative is not exclusive to labels and to Different. The negative is all over the news. The Mommy Wars have perpetuated competition and finger pointing and judgment for decades. If you work, you must not love your kids as much as I do. If you don’t work, you must be over-involved in the PTA with an inability to understand guilt and trade-offs.

The self-doubt.

The wondering if what I’m doing (or not doing) today is going to drive him to drug addiction later.

The anger that the time I have to put into this takes away from that, and vice versa. Falling short. Chronically late.

Those are all scary labels, too.

A lot of what we have to do every day just to get through the motions is So. Exhausting. Sometimes I can’t help but be mad at my own child for making everything harder than it has to be. This is a huge admission, one that I am not proud of, but I’m putting it into words here because in spite of this, in spite of everything related to this, I am still doing a good job. And one reason I know that is because I can still step outside of this and remember that it is not his fault. Sometimes, stepping outside of the moment in motherhood is a herculean feat.

And I also know this is true because someone else said it.

Maybe it was the fatigue that Friday afternoon. But when this person on the periphery looked me in the eyes and told me she’d noticed that we’ve been dealt a lot with both kids that most families don’t have/know/understand and that she sees that we’re on it, that we make it a priority to keep on top of what our kids need and look for the tools available to figure it out… I exhaled. I hadn’t noticed that I had been holding my breath. I think I’ve been holding my breath for six years.

“Thank you,” I responded. I meant it. I needed to hear that. I needed to exhale.

What I want you to know is that you, too, are doing a good job. We are all given a hand of cards that doesn’t match each other’s. We only show each other the backs. All the backs match. But that only makes us eyeball each other to attempt to figure out what we’re hiding on the other side. I don’t know your cards. But I don’t have to to know that you are managing your own dealt hand in your own way with its own unique intricacies I can’t understand. You are doing a good job.

And so am I.

When Schools Market to Moms

I recently had the pleasure of speaking to a group of PR folks who communicate to parents on behalf of their kids' school districts and it served as inspiration for my next post at ModernMom.com, which I hope you'll check out and comment on! Remember that it's not just brands trying to capture moms' attention, but schools, churches, non-profits, libraries, civic organizations, and all those places where a cash register may or may not exist. And there is most definitely room for improvement, even in the absence of commerce.

What do you think schools do best when it comes to communicating with Mom? What should they change? Come on, this class is in session!

Not Exactly How it Happens

Sitting in the comfy chair in his room, Reid and I got completely off-topic in our pre-bedtime-stories conversation.

Him: "Mommy, I want a dog. A dog and a baby."

Me: "You want a dog AND a baby?"

Him: "Yes, I love babies. I want Henry's baby."

Me: "You want Baby Margo to be yours?"

Him: "Yes."

Me: "You take good care of Baby Margo."

Him: "Yes. I say, (in his best baby voice) 'Hiiieee Baby Maaaahhhgooooo!'"

Me: "Well I don't think we can get baby Margo."

Him: "We can buy our own baby."

Me: "You want to go buy a baby from the store?"

Him: "Yes. Like Aunt Sara buyed Margo."

Me: "Where do you think Aunt Sara bought Margo?"

Him: "I don't know. Where do you buy babies?"

Me: "Do you think I bought you at the store? Remember how we talked about how God put you in my belly? Maybe you should talk to God about it."

Him: "I'll go talk to God and he would put a baby in my belly? I don't want a baby in my belly!"

Me: "Well I'm glad we've cleared that up! And now on to the books!"