These are the Days

Apparently you people weren't joking about the "terrible twos."  While I hate that term, I now realize that it's not modifying my Evangeline, but rather the age, so I am trying to reconcile with it; there is so much to reconcile with when it comes to this age two; less than a month in and I feel upended, the carefully honed symbiosis I had with my sweet girl shaken. 

Still, even in the thick of my frustration I can't help but be in awe of all the growing that Evangeline is doing.  She's adding a handful of words every day to her vocabulary.  And her physical skill set is keeping pace.  She has these deep eyes that stare at us when she is trying to figure out something we've said or done or that she is watching elsewhere.  The other morning Tim was watching THE NUTCRACKER on PBS.  Evangeline stopped, started intently at the tv and then started leaping around the room.  This only a week after she saw Celtic dancers and added a modified one-leg kick jig to her daily exercises. 

Until today, though, I did not fully realize how much she is growing emotionally.  The depth of her ability to relate and empathize was heretofore unknown to me.  I seriously have no idea how to fully do justice to this moment in our life together but I will fumble through to the best of my ability.


Tim had an indoor soccer game tonight. When he left I went into the living room and started to read a magazine.  Evangeline was flitting around talking and screeching to herself.  More than likely she was busy finding a new sleeping spot for the little Baby Jesus that is the focal point of the Fisher-Price nativity set my mom gave her last weekend.  She's currently determined to let that baby sleep in the most choice locations Chez Rhodes has to offer.  Wyatt was completing his 100 lap circuit of the downstairs which he tries to accomplish daily. 

The article I was reading made me cry because of how sweet and sad it was.  Towards its culmination, I started to cry privately and quietly.  Suddenly, Evangeline was at my side staring at my face.  She touched my face and asked, "Mama cry?"  She then wiped the tears off of my cheeks and asked to be put on my lap.  When I complied, she started stroking my hair and face and hugging me.  At some point I understood that she was worried, too.  Mamas don't cry!  Babies cry.  So we talked about crying and being sad and she used those eyes to let me know that was taking in what I was saying.  After some time of this, she traced her own cheek and said "I cry" and then traced my cheek while saying, "Mama cry." I don't know that I have ever had a moment as pure and as lovely as the one she and I had tonight.  And to think, only a few hours earlier she was cramming Wyatt's head into the kitchen floor. 

What an honor it is to be her mom. 

No Good, Rotten, Terrible Day

Growing up I was never the best athlete, or the prettiest, or the girl that all the boys wanted to date, or really any of those things that most girls are taught to value.  BUT, what I was, was smart.  I loved to read and I came from a smarty pants family so I learned to value academic and intellectual achievement.  Luckily my parents instilled in me esteem and self-worth, and I look forward to having kids with similar self-worth. Eventually me being smart was exactly why boys (and later men) wanted to date me; they liked my cerebral foreplay.  I hope I don't sound like Little Miss Braggy Peacock, this is just a trait in which I have always felt grounded. 

Lately, though, I feel my mental acuity slipping...piece by piece by piece.  Once someone who never struggled for words, I now often have to pause and search reeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllyyyyyy hard for the word that best conveys what I mean.  What's worse is that I even find myself losing my place in my own conversations (seriously, I had to go back in and interject "conversations" because I had forgotten it in my first draft.).  Armed with an English B.A. I was called the "wordsmith" of my graduating class in my Master's program.  The crowning achievement of my young adult life was when  a professor in my rigorous undergrad  department said my writing was "lucid and powerful."  I cling to that characterization these days as I struggle to even write a blog that adequately expresses what I am thinking.

While I realize that much of what I describe is symptomatic of aging (gasp! dirty tricky insouciant aging!), I can't help but think that two babies under two are not helping the situation.  And of course I chose this. But that doesn't help me when I have no good, rotten, terrible days like I did last week.  I was taking part in training for something that I am actually skilled at doing.  I have done training for it before and it's part of my known skill set.  Still, I did a terrible job when it came time for me to be front and center.  I stumbled early on and never fully recovered.  I was shocked and embarrassed and felt like I did when I was younger and got a bad grade back on a math test.  I even teared up!  I just couldn't believe it.

And, then, something awesome happened.  I saw Evangeline's face.  Seriously.  I don't mean it in a dramatic, overblown way, just very simply: I saw Evangeline's face. Quickly, Wyatt's gummy smile joined hers.   And I relaxed.  I let go of the shame I was feeling and threw it out along with the nagging sense of inadequacy.  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.  During my inhalation I remembered that my most important work was no longer within the confines of my job, but rather was waiting for me a few miles away.  I still had a chance that day to be brilliant because I was going to pick them up from their sitter's house and get hours to be their mommy--aka my new priority position in life.  And just like that, I exhaled. 

Bullseye

Sooooooooooooooooooooo....a few years ago I happened upon the book:  The Better World Shopping Guide.  At the time I was the Coordinator for Service-Learning at the college where I worked and I was looking for something to help people make informed decisions about consumerism (including myself for sure!).  This book is amazing.  Its premise is that conscientious, looking-to-make-the-world-a-better-place folks--aka dogooders--can feel helpless when they look capitalism in the face.  Yet, as Jones points out, individuals have a powerful weapon:  MONEY!  The average consumer spends 18,000 dollars a year (dolla dolla bills, ya'll).  Therefore, consumers have 18,000 votes a year as we choose who we give our money to.  Jones breaks down goods into categories (e.g., make-up, gas, food, restaurants, paper goods, clothes, shoes) and rates companies that produce those goods based on categories.  He uses international watchgroups and research to report on how companies treat the people that work for them, their customers, and our world and its resources. 

It's a bit mindnumbing at first to realize how devoid of morality some of our major companies.  I mean, I am not surprised that they are terrible (I'm not THAT idealistic) but their activities are just unbelievable.  Nestle blocks fresh water access, for instance, in some of the poorest countries as they build their operations and empires.  Kraft, ConAgra, and Procter Gamble are similarly hideous.  And of course each of these has subsidiaries; Nestle owns Gerber and a share of L'Oreal. 

Bah.  And it doesn't stop there.  Jones highlights the worst places to shop. Kohl's and Wal-Mart top the list.  Target, though, is an average company.  It does good and bad but it's an acceptable place to spend my money.  For years I have clung to Target as I have ousted other companies and their products.  And it's not easy when you first start, but it gets easier as you find an acceptable substitute for every product you never thought you could live without. And then a few weeks ago Target lost its damn mind.  I blame the Supreme Court. 


That's right:  I can't shop at Target because of those old people on the Supreme Court.  I feel really guilty even saying that as it seems so disrespectful and I'm German; Germans abhor being disrespectful.  But they ruined my Target for me.  My rainy day, the baby is going crazy, I need something to DO place.The Supreme Court ruled that it was legal for companies to donate company money to individual political candidates.  And Target did.  Holy goodness did they ever. ( http://abcnews.go.com/Business/target-best-buy-fire-campaign-contributions-minnesota-candidate/story?id=11270194)

So now Target and I are on the outs.  And it makes my heart hurt; this boycott hurts more than all the others, for sure.  I started my boycott of it five weeks ago and so far so....well...I'll be honest...it was painful the first few weeks, but NOW, now I don't miss it.  I realized this weekend that I don't feel an absence in my life.  I don't wake up every morning, frantically searching my mind and house for something I've lost.  I don't lick the window when I drive by its cheery red sign.  No, I've learned to turn away from it and, like every other product/store/good I have eschewed due to its tawdry practices, I found better substitutes.

As you might be able to tell, I am very passionate on this subject, which can only mean that I annoy the crap out of people with it. I'm not known for keeping my opinions to myself when it comes to things about which I feel passionate.  BUT, I truly think this is an area of real concern for those of us who believe that only WE can make the world a better place for not just our children, but all future generations.  Seventh Generation's motto speaks to my heart and mind:  In our every deliberation, we must consider the impact of our decisions upon the next seven generations. 

Before you start humming Kumb-bay-yah every time you think of me, or imagine me wearing patchouli, let me remind you that it's so easy to believe this AND want to be a generator of change when these two people look at me every morning and trust me to do whatever I can to express how much I love them:

And So it Goes

Tomorrow I go back to work; the same day that Wyatt enters his fourth month.  It's been a blissful summer and I am so fortunate to have gotten to spend this time with Evangeline and Wyatt.  As a family we were able to take some spontaneous day trips which were so much fun.  And it's hard to believe that I am setting an alarm tonight (ha!  as if a household with a toddler needs an alarm) and planning for the morning routine with two babies instead of one.

Make that three.  Tomorrow morning I am sure to be a big, blubbering mess.  There have already been a few sniffles and some tears but I probably won't bother with make-up tomorrow as it will surely prove futile.  Luckily Tim can take them to our sitters in the morning so I won't have to intensify the heartache that will cloud the day.

Here's the kicker:  even with the tears, I know that going back to work is the right choice for me.  I love my job.  I love that I get to be an educator at home and at work.  A great friend of mine once time told me that I am a meta-educator.  While she was sincere, I'm pretty sure that she meant that I challenge people by telling them what I think and press them on why they think it.  No matter how it's meant, I dig the label and know it to be true.  So not only do I get to educate for a living, I also really like the work I do.  There is definitely minutiae that annoys me but in the end I like the people I work with and I get to be mentally stimulated.  And even that minutiae secretly makes me happy because I get to channel my tasks into lists and I really love a good list!

And that's why I can finally forgive myself for the realization that I am happy being a mom who works outside of the home.  Yup, I said forgive myself.  Since the moment I had Evangeline, I have engaged myself in this endless inner struggle about whether or not I should quit work and be a stay-at-home-mom.  I have been ruthless towards myself and equated my desire to continue my job with being a bad mom.  How could I possibly be the mom I want to be if I am not willing to spend all the time I can with them?  My own mom stayed at home with me until I was five and did so lovingly.  Do I love my children less than my mom loved me?  Unfortunately, the whole mommy wars evokes this opinions sometimes. 

Here's the thing, though:  I want to be a happy mom.  More than anything, I want for Evangeline and Wyatt to have a mom who loves her life and therefore imbues them with the same sense of wonderment of being human.  And to do this, I want to work right now.  I'm not saying I won't change my mind but I feel so productive when I achieve the perfect balance of my chosen and acquired roles:  wife, mom, professional, daughter, sister, friend.  And don't we all--SAHM and WOHM--want the type of peace and joy that balance brings? 

Earlier in the summer I borrowed a book from my stepsister titled THE IDLE PARENT (check it out--challenging to a lot of reflexive, ingrained beliefs).  In it the author reminded me that the idea of a woman  not working outside of the home was brought to us by those pesky Victorians.  Oh I love those pent-up, girdled, worried about what their neighbors think of them Victorians*.  The notion was that only the richest of men could afford to have a wife who did not have some type of income.  Imagine that!  Women being treated as status symbols and not viable, independent people. 

And the whole point of this for me is that I need to realize that choosing to be a working mom does NOT mean I love my babies less than a SAHM.  Each choice comes with challenges and rewards and we need to feel good about which one we pick so that our children realize that a happy, fulfilling life is about making good choices for us and those that depend on us. 

What helps me with this, too, is seeing my friends who are working parents and looking at how attached to them their kids are and how much they thrive under their parents' loving care.  I will think of them often tomorrow as I look at the clock almost as much as I will be looking at pictures of my sweet duo and love that I will get to see them very soon.

*I actually mean this.  My undergrad degree is in English and my focus was Victorian literature.  Some of my favorite memories are of sitting in a Victorian literature seminar discussing delicious books with their delicious characters and delicious metaphors. 

Peacocks

I'm married to a peacock which for me means a gleeful inseminator.  Men who are so pleased when they release at the proper point and time and end up impregnating a woman.  Woot!  They did it!  Peacocks love the fact that they have created life and smile modestly when congratulated on their impending child, all the while they are humming the theme to ROCKY in their heads.  Don't get me wrong, I love me some peacocks (one in particular fluffs my feathers).  I love how excited they get knowing that their creation is earthbound.  And the really great peacocks know that the chest puffing can last for a lifetime and even deepen as they evolve as fathers as their children grow into adults.

And it is truly magical to watch a proud papa with their progeny.  The delight they take in the development and antics of their children makes them parents that are fun to be around.  The involved dad is a great peacock partner. 

Yet, as a new mom I cannot tell you the number of times I have heard Tim (i.e. my peacock) complimented simply for chasing our toddler through Target.  The approving smiles and comments are warranted (Tim IS a great dad) but I have never received similar accolades for the same actions.  So while moms are being torn apart for their decision to work or breastfeed or other assorted hot-topic issues, involved dads are basking in all sorts of love just by...being there.  Doing what great dads do:  feeding their babies, playing with them, reading to them, rocking them to sleep, bathing them, etc. 

I truly don't mean to sound ungrateful for my own love, and I certainly don't take for granted how amazing it is when he comes home and whisks the babies away so I can regroup; but do I need to think of him as extraordinary for doing this?  Should it not be the expectation of a co-parent?  According to the reactions I've witnessed, it has NOT been the expectation of fathers and therefore an involved dad is a novelty to be celebrated. 

True story:  I was speaking to my Oma a few hours after my 27-hour labor with Wyatt and she gushed for minutes on end about how awesome Tim was for "hanging in there" the whole time.  An extreme and funny example but I do think it is a propos of how lauded men are when they move past their initial peacock perch and start to nurture their little chicks.  And, to throw in the martyr gauntlet, is it fair that mothers have to do these things or risk being called "incompetent"and/or uncaring?

As a final aside,  just to prove how funny and  awesome my peacock is, THESE are the types of things he'd buy for our babies:  fart shoes.

The Parenting Book Club

I used to belong to a lovely book club.  I'd get together once a month with lovely people and we would talk about lovely books while drinking lovely wine and eating lovely food.  I was even tolerant and accepting of those members who did not read the books and just wanted to be there for the fun.  Normally I'm such a righteous student that I would greet this type of lackadaisical attitude toward books with total snobbery; but Book Club Dell was a forgiving sort ;)

I miss that book club which eventually dissipated although I don't know how I would manage to read a book a month with two babies under two.  Yet, the thought of sitting around and having a dialogue with other adults about tantalizing books is a delicious, if unattainable one.  For now, I acquiesce to my new primary label, MOTHER, and accept that my new book club happens extemporaneously every time I am around my friends who are either parents or nice enough folks who care about the development of my children.

My new book club eschews the works of Eliot, Alvarez, and Hosseini in favor of the child-rearing books of Sears, Ferber, Karp, etc. An English undergrad, I relish reading of any type.  Yet, I miss my literary friends.  The day I was hospitalized for hyperemesis while pregnant with Wyatt was not a fun one BUT I read two entire books.  Her Fearful Symmetry and The Birth of Venus kept me occupied.  and I loved the opportunity to be forced to slow down and enjoy my favorite way to pass the time. 

Of course, both book clubs are ultimately linked.  The reason I love literature is its ability to capture the human existence in its most beautiful and ugliest forms.  Along with characters, great books also  reflect the society, culture, and time in which they are written, offering keen insight into life.  Parenting books are similar, no?  They certainly offer invaluable detail into different types of parents and children (i.e. the characters) and they always reflect how the author was raised and who they are as a parenting educator.  Sears and Bucknam could not be further apart in their parenting views and surely this is due to either rejecting or accepting their own childhoods.

For now I know I will certainly spend more time investigating parenting books, although I surely miss the wide-open days where books were my constant companions.  It's enough for me that last week I was allowed a sublime Monday where I laid in bed all day with my three-month old boy and read The Middle Place all day long, from cover to cover--delicious.

The Body Politic

I seriously love my babies but don't feel nearly the same affection for the body I was left with after their pregnancies and subsequent births.

A public list of grievances:

1.  baby pounds, too numerous and embarrassing to enumerate
2.  Pregnancy mask that takes me aback every time I see it because it is so dark and expansive
3.  Stretch marks!  Thank you, Wyatt; Mama was pristine and smooth until the final days of being pregnant with you.
4.  Symphosis Pubic Dysfunction  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Symphysis_pubis_dysfunction  A tough one to bear BUT I did meet an awesome chiropractor
5.  Swelling
6.  nausea and vomiting from the eighth week until the day the babies were born
7.  hyperemesis
8.  PUPPS
9.  and, finally, congestive heart failure after Wyatt's birth

My new post-baby body disappoints me as much as my babies thrill me.  Just as I realize that I have the right to not like what I see, I know that one of my most important jobs as a mom is to get rid of my own body issues before I transfer them to my own baby girl.  Plus, those babies look at me and see this woman who loves them, NOT a body heavily flawed.