I attended a de-cluttering workshop yesterday. And I learned that I am actually very organized, although one would have a hard time discerning this by looking at my office and my various piles (actually, more like volcanic oozings) around the house (much to my husband's frustration). I understand -- and have even created for myself -- many of the principles that the facilitator described to us.
So, while I am actually very good at creating order when I have the time, I just can't seem to maintain that order. Unfortunately, the workshop spent very little time on the issue of maintenance other than to say that you must spend 15 - 30 minutes each day to keep things under control. Great idea, but how do I force this notion deep into my psyche so that I actually follow through?
I think I found a way, though. As the workshop progressed, I realized that everyone there seemed really neurotic, and, frankly, weird. And there is no way I want to be like them.
How does this relate to parenting? For one, as will undoubtedly become increasingly clear from what I write about myself, I am acutely aware of being careful about what values and behavior I am modeling for our daughter. I think back to my father's study and his office at the university and shudder at the image of towering piles of books everywhere with papers shoved in between the pages, random replicas of ancient found objects, and boxes of lecture notes.
Is this where my own hoarding and piling started? Will I, too, pass this on to my daughter?
My psyche is starting to get the picture ...
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
Mama Mo
For much of today I was the preferred parent. Funny timing given my recent post and comment exchange with aimee/greeblemonkey about this very topic.
I stayed home because our daughter has had a fever for the past 30-some hours on and off, leaving her intermittently fussy and needy -- with a particular yearning for "mama mo" (she calls milk "mo" and you can probably figure out what "mama mo" then stands for ... but, in case that's too obtuse, yes, I am still breastfeeding at 18+ months). Given what we thought was her feverish state of mind, though, she had moments in which she really didn't know what she wanted. Consider this exchange when she was screaming herself silly:
Us: Are you hungry? Do you want food?
Her: Yeeaah (with a whiny lilt). No!
Us: Do you want mo?
Her: Yeeaah (same whiny lilt). No!
Us: Do you want mama mo?
Her: Yeeaah (again, the whiny lilt). No!
Us: Do you want to read?
Her: Yeeaah (same whiny lilt once more). No!
Us: Do you want to dance?
Her: Yeeaah (ditto on the whiny lilt). No!
Her: Elmo! Bubbles! Anya (referring to her favorite song of late, "Hey Ya Na," from her Music Together class)
Us: OK, so you want Elmo?
Her: Yeeaah. No!
Us: OK, so you want bubbles?
Her: Yeeaah. No!
Us: OK, so you want Hey Ya Na?
Her: Yeeaah. No!
You get the picture.
As much as it was painful to see her this way, we ended up having to turn away giggling at one point (probably our best defense mechanism in the moment). It turned out, by the way, that it was hunger that muddled her thinking, not the fever.
I felt so needed as she melted into me while we sat on the kitchen floor (the only place she'd tolerate at that point) eating dinner that my husband creatively assembled for us (our daughter insisted that she eat bacon, the last food I'd offer to someone with a fever and a food she's eaten only twice in her life but for which she seems to feel a deep passion -- so much for healthy eating habits!).
The tides do indeed turn. I only hope my husband didn't feel rejected -- seeing it from the other side, it's a lot clearer that it's not personal and it's very circumstantial. How enlightened I feel!
I stayed home because our daughter has had a fever for the past 30-some hours on and off, leaving her intermittently fussy and needy -- with a particular yearning for "mama mo" (she calls milk "mo" and you can probably figure out what "mama mo" then stands for ... but, in case that's too obtuse, yes, I am still breastfeeding at 18+ months). Given what we thought was her feverish state of mind, though, she had moments in which she really didn't know what she wanted. Consider this exchange when she was screaming herself silly:
Us: Are you hungry? Do you want food?
Her: Yeeaah (with a whiny lilt). No!
Us: Do you want mo?
Her: Yeeaah (same whiny lilt). No!
Us: Do you want mama mo?
Her: Yeeaah (again, the whiny lilt). No!
Us: Do you want to read?
Her: Yeeaah (same whiny lilt once more). No!
Us: Do you want to dance?
Her: Yeeaah (ditto on the whiny lilt). No!
Her: Elmo! Bubbles! Anya (referring to her favorite song of late, "Hey Ya Na," from her Music Together class)
Us: OK, so you want Elmo?
Her: Yeeaah. No!
Us: OK, so you want bubbles?
Her: Yeeaah. No!
Us: OK, so you want Hey Ya Na?
Her: Yeeaah. No!
You get the picture.
As much as it was painful to see her this way, we ended up having to turn away giggling at one point (probably our best defense mechanism in the moment). It turned out, by the way, that it was hunger that muddled her thinking, not the fever.
I felt so needed as she melted into me while we sat on the kitchen floor (the only place she'd tolerate at that point) eating dinner that my husband creatively assembled for us (our daughter insisted that she eat bacon, the last food I'd offer to someone with a fever and a food she's eaten only twice in her life but for which she seems to feel a deep passion -- so much for healthy eating habits!).
The tides do indeed turn. I only hope my husband didn't feel rejected -- seeing it from the other side, it's a lot clearer that it's not personal and it's very circumstantial. How enlightened I feel!
Monday, August 6, 2007
I'm Not Guilty
I don't feel guilty. About working.* Nor do I feel guilty about not spending as much time with our daughter as I'd like to. It's not that I feel I should spend more time with her. I know she has the best possible care in the hands of my husband. I simply want to spend more time with her.
At the same time, I'm trying to figure out how I set aside time for myself, by myself, too. But how do I do this and still maximize my time with my daughter? Not to mention maximizing my time with my husband.
Lately my physical state has been nagging at me -- I have yet to resume a decent level of fitness postpartum (can I use that term if she's 18 months old?). While at one time my desire for being fit was fueled by let's say, um, vanity (only partly), now it's fueled by wanting to be healthy for purposes of longevity. In other words, as an older mother, I obsess a little about making sure that I am a part of my daughter's life as long as possible. But, less selfishly, I want my daughter to absorb healthy habits by seeing me as a fit person who exercises regularly and eats well. So how do I find the time for this?
As I write this, I realize that I could start getting up earlier and incorporating a workout into my morning routine since my daughter sleeps late and isn't up when I leave for work (first I'd have to establish a morning routine; it's not my best time of day). And I could make more of an effort to walk during lunch or to take my daughter with me on walks.
It's a start!
*I once read an article assuring working moms that they shouldn't feel guilty about working. While well-intentioned, the article didn't resonate at all for me, and, if anything, left me wondering if I really should be feeling guilty in order to be a "normal" working mom (I realize there probably is no such thing -- we each have our idiosyncrasies, right?).
At the same time, I'm trying to figure out how I set aside time for myself, by myself, too. But how do I do this and still maximize my time with my daughter? Not to mention maximizing my time with my husband.
Lately my physical state has been nagging at me -- I have yet to resume a decent level of fitness postpartum (can I use that term if she's 18 months old?). While at one time my desire for being fit was fueled by let's say, um, vanity (only partly), now it's fueled by wanting to be healthy for purposes of longevity. In other words, as an older mother, I obsess a little about making sure that I am a part of my daughter's life as long as possible. But, less selfishly, I want my daughter to absorb healthy habits by seeing me as a fit person who exercises regularly and eats well. So how do I find the time for this?
As I write this, I realize that I could start getting up earlier and incorporating a workout into my morning routine since my daughter sleeps late and isn't up when I leave for work (first I'd have to establish a morning routine; it's not my best time of day). And I could make more of an effort to walk during lunch or to take my daughter with me on walks.
It's a start!
*I once read an article assuring working moms that they shouldn't feel guilty about working. While well-intentioned, the article didn't resonate at all for me, and, if anything, left me wondering if I really should be feeling guilty in order to be a "normal" working mom (I realize there probably is no such thing -- we each have our idiosyncrasies, right?).
Sunday, August 5, 2007
It's Just Different
I once spent some time in Fiji where I found myself responding, repeatedly, that life in the United States is just different, to the many comments I received about how wonderful it must be to have all the creature comforts we have here, etc., etc. I even found myself sitting upright in bed one night reciting this mantra. One is not better than the other.
I've been reminded of this experience when I hear from working mom friends who have had to put their children in daycare that they are envious of the fact that my husband is a stay-at-home dad. "How much easier that must be ..." they fantasize. It is easier. And it's harder. But I felt like a spoiled brat in feeling this way. Shouldn't I be immensely grateful that my husband not only wants to stay home, but also throws himself into the job of doing so with incredible passion, commitment, and skill? And that we don't have to put our daughter into daycare (which, by the way, is a perfectly reasonable option -- I just know from what others say that this can be difficult)? I am. Profoundly.
But I needed to know that this nagging feeling of envy -- even jealousy and, at times, resentment -- toward my husband was normal. I suspected that I wouldn't feel this way if we had put her in daycare. I thought that this would have leveled the playing field, that he and I would be experiencing parenthood more similarly and I would feel less competitive. I turned to my life-long friend, who happens to have researched this phenomenon, for support. She validated that what I'm feeling is, in fact, normal. And I felt much better. I've even found myself letting go of those jealously competitive feelings.
Here's what's also helped:
(1) I added up the waking hours that my husband and I each spend with our daughter. After factoring in her late bedtime and wake-up time, and the fact that I spend most of each weekend day and evening with her, it turns out that he and I spend the same amount of time playing with and caring for her.
(2) My husband offered to leave more frequently during weekday evenings so that I could gain confidence in my parenting. Although he generally backs off during the evenings so that she and I can have our time together, I still turn to him for guidance or assistance if he's around. I parent much more intuitively and gracefully when completely on my own, and my husband gets a real break for once.
(3) Perhaps most importantly, I found that the more worried I felt about our daughter preferring my husband over me, the more likely she was to do so. So I chilled out. Which gave us the space to connect.
I still struggle from time to time, but it's getting so much better.
I've been reminded of this experience when I hear from working mom friends who have had to put their children in daycare that they are envious of the fact that my husband is a stay-at-home dad. "How much easier that must be ..." they fantasize. It is easier. And it's harder. But I felt like a spoiled brat in feeling this way. Shouldn't I be immensely grateful that my husband not only wants to stay home, but also throws himself into the job of doing so with incredible passion, commitment, and skill? And that we don't have to put our daughter into daycare (which, by the way, is a perfectly reasonable option -- I just know from what others say that this can be difficult)? I am. Profoundly.
But I needed to know that this nagging feeling of envy -- even jealousy and, at times, resentment -- toward my husband was normal. I suspected that I wouldn't feel this way if we had put her in daycare. I thought that this would have leveled the playing field, that he and I would be experiencing parenthood more similarly and I would feel less competitive. I turned to my life-long friend, who happens to have researched this phenomenon, for support. She validated that what I'm feeling is, in fact, normal. And I felt much better. I've even found myself letting go of those jealously competitive feelings.
Here's what's also helped:
(1) I added up the waking hours that my husband and I each spend with our daughter. After factoring in her late bedtime and wake-up time, and the fact that I spend most of each weekend day and evening with her, it turns out that he and I spend the same amount of time playing with and caring for her.
(2) My husband offered to leave more frequently during weekday evenings so that I could gain confidence in my parenting. Although he generally backs off during the evenings so that she and I can have our time together, I still turn to him for guidance or assistance if he's around. I parent much more intuitively and gracefully when completely on my own, and my husband gets a real break for once.
(3) Perhaps most importantly, I found that the more worried I felt about our daughter preferring my husband over me, the more likely she was to do so. So I chilled out. Which gave us the space to connect.
I still struggle from time to time, but it's getting so much better.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Whose Dream Was This?
I played with dolls. Constantly. I set up a changing table (even found a tube of Desitin left over from my infanthood that I used to soothe my own vinyl babies' bottoms), cooked for hours in my pretend kitchen, and made miniature dresses. When I wasn't playing with life-size babies, I was engrossed with my dollhouse. Sure, I went to college thinking I'd have a career (for about, oh, three years) and then I'd get married, have babies, and happily stay at home with them. I never wanted to go to graduate school. I never wanted a heavy-duty career. So how did I end up working full-time as a college dean while my husband is a stay-at-home dad with our 18-month old daughter?
I could answer that. But I won't ...
Amazingly, I am happy about -- even deeply fulfilled by -- the choices I've made, even though they are vastly different from my vision. But some days are a drag.
I've searched for forums in which working moms with stay-at-home dads exchange empathic wisdom about this unusual arrangement but have yet to find anything. Can anyone direct me, please?
I could answer that. But I won't ...
Amazingly, I am happy about -- even deeply fulfilled by -- the choices I've made, even though they are vastly different from my vision. But some days are a drag.
I've searched for forums in which working moms with stay-at-home dads exchange empathic wisdom about this unusual arrangement but have yet to find anything. Can anyone direct me, please?
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