Something good

Abraham sits on the floor with a wooden spoon, 2 small mixing bowls, and an empty gallon jug of milk. He stirs the spoon around the bowl, picks up the milk jug and pours it into the bowl, puts it down, reclaims his spoon and finishes mixing. He is completely focused and completely open to play. (Now he puts the milk jug in the drawer of baking things).

This creative-drama teaching-mama couldn’t be prouder.

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Bubby, my maternal grandmother, swears she was the first one to play pretend with me, sitting on her porch, “eating” ice cream. Did that event lead to who I have become? Will Abraham carry the memory (probably not consciously) of this free play and continue to play as a child, teenager, and adult? I don’t even mean in the theatre, I mean in his whole life.

(now he is trying to balance the milk jug upside down in the other bowl)

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I see him working so hard, playing so hard. I observe him, narrate what he does, add in objects to compliment his play. But then it is time for a diaper change and he screams, throws his head back, and tries to escape my evil clutches.

And I think to myself, I must do this too. In what parts of my own life do I rear my head back and try to escape?

And I think he and I have the same reasons: lack of control. When we play, we are free. But then we have to change the diaper and leave the comfort of freedom behind.

It is so hard to be a baby. So easy too. I’m so grateful for the time to see him struggle and see him be free.

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Woman

My good friend, the Incredible Exploding Head, just wrote a great piece about being a Woman. Mostly having to do with being a Mother vs. Not. She got me thinking about my own mother-ness.

I had a rough day. I’ve had a rough series of days. I shouldn’t: I have a sweet, funny baby who is very easy going, a devoted and kind husband, a comfortable home, some interesting work. Even friends. In town. Nearby!

But I have very little time that is my own. Which I expected when I decided to have a baby. But I didn’t realize how intense it would be to be needed all the time.

I think of myself as an introvert and an extrovert. I usually feel shy, not quite knowing what to say, but at the same time, wanting to be with people. I used to (wait, I still do) work/write at a cafe, not in my home office (what home office – ha!). I like taking classes. I like sitting in audiences. I don’t really like talking in front of people (acting is different…).

The introvert part of me needs alone time to reboot. A 7 minute shower every morning isn’t enough.

Most people don’t talk about this part of being a mother. The part where you stop being you.

I keep thinking to myself, when Abraham goes to school, I will practice yoga for real. I will start a theatre company. I will read books quickly. I will be me again.

This is a terrible approach. I am me. I am the same person who wanted to have a baby in the first place. If I put myself on the shelf (sorry for that rhyme), how can I be a good mother, dare I say my ideal mother, for Abraham? How can I be a good wife, step mother, friend, anything? Much less artist, teacher, leader…

I feel terrible every time I leave Abraham with a babysitter or even David, because I love leaving. I love going to the coffee shop with my laptop and writing. I love going to the yoga studio and teaching. I love meeting my friend for lunch and brainstorming theatre ideas for the company we want to get off the ground.

Which is not to say that I don’t love being with him. I do. I do so much. I love watching him discover the world. I love that when he cries a little, it shocks me because I think of him as a person not really a baby. I love watching him eat, sleep, poop, laugh, read…everything. But I love it most when I feel most like myself. Which is when I spend some time taking care of my, not him, not David, not anyone else.

I wish I could do both and not feel bad about either.

So, like the Head, who got my brain going in the first place (Head, you are so good at that. I miss you!),  I want to make the next part of my like pretty fucking cool. In Reading, PA.

I’ve got to figure out how to start.

Local

I’m trying to get my friend Kirsten to move to Detroit because I can’t move there. She lives in Ann Arbor and could get a job in Detroit. She is an artist, a yoga teacher, and a compassionate, creative soul. She could do great things in Detroit.

Then I remembered that I live in Reading, a city that could use some compassion and creativity.

Then this morning, I read this article. And I remembered that I could do great things here.

As much as I actually don’t like growing up, I do like discovering the beliefs that matter most to me. If I observe where my own actions lead (because I believe in the cliche that actions speak louder), commitment to local is high on the list (close to importance of family, open time, thrift, and other things). When I worked at Touchstone Theatre, my favorite projects were always the very local pieces we created ourselves. The very personal/local transcends and becomes relevant to everyone, everywhere.

That is what I want to do in Reading.

Natural

Abraham was recently pictured on Natural Parents’ Network on their Wordless Wednesdays feature about food. After he was pictured and I shared the link with my family and friends, I wondered to myself if I am actually a natural parent. What does that really mean?

There is a long list of what it means to be a natural parent on their website.

I prepared to have a natural birth at a birth center, but I found on my due date that Abraham was breech, so we had a c-section and it wasn’t so bad.

We went around and around about the decision, but we circumsized Abraham because we are Jewish and that heritage is important to us, even though we still wrestle with our choice.

I nurse Abraham and intend to as long as we both are enjoying it, but I also supplement his nursing with formula to keep him on the right weight track.

He sleeps with us, but I’m looking forward to getting would love to get him to sleep on his own so I can have a little space and time back to myself.

I fed him food at 4.5 months old (which is a bit early) but he was full-body-lunging for it. I also give him food that is not organic or local. Local is preferred, but the child loves avocados, which aren’t exactly native to Pennsylvania.

I have 3 different baby carriers, all of which I love to use, but damn, it is nice to push him in a stroller in this hot weather.

We are vaccinating Abraham on a regular schedule. We feel it is our responsibility to him and to our community to ensure that diseases that have died out stay gone.

What is most true is that I hate all of these parenting labels. They are shortcuts, sure, but they are also pegboards. I never have enjoyed being pegged (though I think I’m pretty predictably peg-able…) in any position, especially being a mother.

So that’s it. I’m a mother. I’m a step mother. Those describe my relationships to my kids. That is all. Every choice I make as either is not because I’m a natural parent, a free-range parent, a whatever parent. It is just because I’m a parent and I’m always trying to do the right thing for each of my kids.

Prompt

Sometimes there is so much going on in my brain that I’m sure what to write on my blog. What is appropriate, what is interesting, what I feel like dealing with in written words.

I recently came across a prompt project: http://www.reverb10.com/

Each day they have a different reflecting-over-the-past-year prompt. Here is today’s, followed by my response.

December 15 – 5 Minutes

Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010.

(Author: Patti Digh)

Five minutes to remember 2010. The biggest memory is getting pregnant and carrying little Raspberry around for much of the year. I remember telling different people, friends, family, co-workers. It is amazing how excited everyone gets when you start talking about a baby. I took a home pregnancy test one morning when David had already left for work. I took a photo of the positive response and showed it to him that night after we’d put the kids to bed.

36 weeks pregnant...

In 2010 my grandfather passed away, a sad reminder of the cyclical nature of life. He was ill and had been struggling. Luckily David and I went to see my grand parents in January, so we had spent some time with him when he was feeling pretty well. Never enough time.

With Grandpa and Grandma in January

Mentioning the midwest reminds me of the way I began 2010 – by totalling David’s car. We were driving from Chicago to Detroit (the WORST idea we’ve ever had in winter – and we are smart folks!). David suggested I drive a bit because the road was clear and there was no snow. After about 5 minutes of driving, the road suddenly covered in ice and we were the final car in a huge pile up. The tow truck driver took photos it was so many cars. We were completely shook up, we spent the night in a weird Ramada in Western Michigan, and the next day rented a car to drive to Detroit and then PA. David kindly did all the driving. And we agreed never to drive to the Midwest in winter again.

We are very lucky

And that’s 5 minutes of memories. It is interesting to see what comes up – life, death, fear.

Last year I made a 2009 photo album of our best photos from the year. It was mostly the kids, some of me and of David. I plan to do it every year, in part because it is nice to have a tangible memory, and I love looking through the hundreds of photos we take each year, remember everything from ice skating, to planting our garden, to swimming with cousins, to going back to school, to ice skating again.

This year will be full of such different memories. But I love looking back.

Happy Hanukah

I have varied my opinions about Hanukah over time. As a child, I loved it because it was greasy food and presents – what’s not to love?!

As a young adult, I struggled with it – Was it only important as an alternative to Christmas? Do I really want to celebrate a war victory? Why are we encouraging America to be MORE commercial, especially at this spend-happy time of year? I don’t even believe in miracles, so why am I celebrating a holiday about a miracle?

Now, as a slightly older young adult, but as a wife, parent, active-member-of-my-congregation, and religious school director, I find myself wrestling with Hanukah in new ways.

For many non-Jews, it is a holiday they are familiar with, at least superficially. It is a conversation starter, a way into deeper understanding. This is useful as a way to talk about why being Jewish is important to me, what this holiday might really mean to us now, and what other holidays matter. My relationship to Judaism is constantly changing and I like the opportunity to constantly reevaluate it.

I also like considering what Hanukah may mean now, in 2010. I’ve been reading about teaching children about the history vs. mythology of Hanukah. Both are improtant, but I’m a huge fan of stories. Why can’t we tell the story of the miracle of the oil not as a statement of fact but as a story that illustrates devotion, faith, and bringing in the light? We all could use a little more light this time of year.

In a recent re-reading of the story, I found myself drawn to the “standing up for what you believe in” and “religious freedom” aspects of the story. Sadly, both themes are as important today as they were when/if the historical event took place. Any way in to a conversation about standing up for what you believe in is welcome, with children or adults.

A few years ago (and maybe it continues) there was a movement, at least within the progressive Jewish movements of which I am a part, to add an environmental bent to Hanukah and encourage us all to change our lightbulbs over to CFLs. And why not? Why not use a holiday about standing up for what you believe in to make the world more energy efficient and thoughtful?

I often find myself fighting with Hankuah in my own family because I don’t want to celebrate something because I don’t celebrate Christmas. If anything, maximizing the present-giving and “seasons greetings” aspect of Hanukah take away from the story.

David and I lit our menorah last night, even though the kids weren’t with us (why do we only do these things when the kids are around…another post will have to tackle that one…). I would have been content not to light them, but because we did, I said the blessings. To him, the lighting was important. To me, the whole act was important – either do it or don’t. We didn’t give each other presents, on purpose and by accident, and I like it better that way. We sang a little (Don’t Cry for Me Argentina and some Georgian songs though – not Hanukah songs ).

And today I’m going to have a donut. I can’t make sufganiyot, so I will settle for Dunkin.

Happy Hanukah!

Peeve

For fear that I’ve been too complain-y lately: a pet peeve.

Why is that kids don’t know what do with simple problems?

Two cases in point:

1. When I’m teaching at a school and the kids have to write, every day, EVERY DAY, one of them sits there and does nothing. When I approach to help brainstorm, they say “my pencil broke, I can’t write.” When I ask them what they should do, usually they say “Sharpen it, but I don’t have a Sharpener.” And when I ask them what they should do about that, they either point to the classroom sharpener or a peer at their table passes one over with minimal drama. Did I really need to help solve that problem?
2. Yesterday, Nathan and Zoë were playing upstairs with some friends. All of a sudden, I heard lots of laughing and “ew”-ing and Nathan came to me with huge globs of snot dripping from him nose (and a huge smile on his face). He said “I have some boogers” and I said “that’s right, what are you going to do about it?” and he stood there, smiling. I said “maybe you should gt a tissue” and he held out his hand. I sent him to the bathroom (perk of being a step-parent: unless they are really sick, I’m not wiping up snot. Especially while pregnant).

To honor Jerry Seinfeld, What’s the deal with these kids? Why can’t they figure out these very simple problems on his own. If your pencil breaks, sharpen it. If your nose explodes, wipe it.

I’m sure there is only more problem-solving insanity once Raspberry gets to the age where he should be able to solve his own problems. He’ll either be more clueless, or super-sassy and try to solve all my problems too.

I’m really just concerned about this generation of kids as they get older and have to deal with life on their own without someone telling them to sharpen their pencil.

Loathing and Fear

This may be a rant.

I am tired of fear-mongering everywhere I turn. So many of the baby books, articles, or podcasts I turn to to learn about pregnancy and newborn-hood are all about the problems and risks. So many people offer advice based on fear (don’t do yoga, don’t eat spicy food, don’t get a microvan, don’t lift that, don’t climb on that, don’t stand). Step-parenting is all fear based (what if their mom sees the kids playing outside without a coat on a 60º day – will I go to jail? if the kids forget to bring something back to their other house because we are trying to teach them to be responsible for their own things – will i get yelled at?).

Even being a regular old person, forget the kids, is fear (terrorists will kill us all, all people of color are to be feared, white men are also to be feared, women you don’t know are probably out to steal your husband or your children, don’t make eye contact, don’t talk to anyone you don’t know, don’t help people because it is probably a trap, don’t walk alone at night, don’t park in parking lots or garages, don’t let your purse out of your sight, lock all your doors…).

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

I know there are things in the world that are dangerous and to be feared. But I’m tired of being taught to fear everything. And I don’t want any of my children (step-, bio-, those I teach, etc) to grow up being afraid of everything. Which doesn’t mean I want them to get hurt. Quite the opposite.

Fear makes us stuck. We are so concerned with being perfectly safe that we have lost our creativity and ability to make mistakes.

It isn’t easy. When the kids run outside to play, I want to go with them, solve their squabbles, yell “car,” make sure they don’t get grumpy from being too hungry, tell them to pick up their toys so they don’t get ruined or stolen. But that won’t help them learn to solve their own problems, see the actual danger in front of them, recognize their own needs, take care of their own belongings.

They recognize the fear in their parents, teachers, family. I don’t want to be one more grown up telling them what to do to keep them safe. I want to give them space to be themselves. No small task.

This blog, Free Range Kids, helps. I know I’m not the only one.

I always wanted to be a Little Rascal, usually Darla.

Waiting

Sunday night we saw Waiting for Superman, a documentary about the school system in America. I’ve been thinking about it ever since, trying to figure out what I want to say and what I want to do.

Say: It is devastating and inspiring. I want to throw up my hands and weep. I want to go back to school, become a classroom teacher, eventually a principal, and change the world from the inside.

Do: Talk about it with everyone I can. The more people who are talking and thinking about the problems with the school system, perhaps the more change that will happen (very, very slowly like the Grand Canyon, I know). I will keep doing the work I am with arts-in-education and religious education. Both are outside of “regular school,” one during the school day (so revoluntionary!) and one on the weekends, one for a school with 85% free lunch, one for a school where parents are MDs and PhDs.

The most important thing I can do is to keep finding ways to share my own love of learning with kids. All of the kids I can.

 

Just Ask

Important lesson learned: People loved to be asked to help, to volunteer, to contribute.

Kids loves to volunteer to pass out papers, to write on the board, to collect papers, to hold the door, to help another kid. Few that I’ve met have the initiative to offer help (maybe this is a developmental milestone hit later? must look into that), but any time I ask for volunteers, I usually have more than I need before I even announce what the volunteering is for!

Adults also love to help but need to be asked. People who are new to the organization, community, family, etc want to be involved and supportive but often don’t know what to do.  Small projects work well and then that volunteer starts to see how the systems work and they either continue to volunteer or begin taking initiative.

This revelation is not earth shattering. You may even be reading this thinking, Yes, Vicki, all you have to do is ask. I’ve been telling you that for years. (Yes, Mom, you are right again).

But for a small, shy woman, asking is the hardest part. It is easier to for me to do everything myself rather than ask for help. But I see that the community cannot continue on my shoulders (or the shoulders of the taking-initiative few) alone; I don’t want it to. That is the whole point of community.

Though it is a little early or late, my new year’s resolution is to ASK.