Day 288

My brain often doesn't work in straight lines. Um, if you know me, I don't need to tell you this.

Sometimes a mind that operates like a pinball machine is awesome (I've been called creative). But sometimes - when you really need to make forward progress, and quickly - a tendency to spin off in all different directions just sucks. That was the case this morning.

I knew I needed to run. But I felt like I didn't have time. So I sat and I forced and ... nothing. And then I called it: If I didn't run, I'd be parked in this same seat, surrounded by all of this same sh*t, with a mostly blank screen come 4:50 when I need to go get the boys.

Here, seat + sh*t: 

So I grabbed Digs and we jogged down to the bridge and back. Four miles later, my brain is thinking like this: 

Now, to work...

PS: Why waste time blog-documenting this? Proof that I can't afford NOT to run the next time I come to a creative crossroads like this. 

Day 286

"Boys will be boys."  

"Ah, they're just acting like boys." 

Re: all variations of this refrain... not a fan. I don't like ascribing personality traits to genders... but, today, my kids were acting the way people say boys act. All crazy and tackle-y and shit. 

First, at they park, they played "fireman." (This is not crazy. This is fun. And classically childlike.) But this game is noteworthy today for the following side note reason: apparently, firemen these days only fight fires by appointment. Said Jules to Kai, as he scrambled up the ladder: "Kai, I have to get up to this fireman appointment. Quick! Follow me." 

Then, at home, while I attempted to change sheets on Julian's bed, they tackled each other again and again... Jules was sitting on Kai, his knobby-kneed legs pretzel-wrapped around his little bro's torso. They were both screaming. With Joy. This, while I fired off a series of cliche mom phrases in rapid succession: "off his neck!" "stop!" "you're hurting him" "quit sitting on his face" and, finally, "you're going to smash someone's eye into the radiator."

Outside, they squealed with delight while squirting each other with the "squirty thing" (the water gun that is not a gun). I told Jules to turn the hose off, that it was cold and it was time to go inside and then said F it. They're having fun. So I sat on the deck and read a (page of a) magazine while the had their water fight. Until they really were cold. 

And then Jules wanted to come in and "walk" Dempsey through the house. Demps was the reindeer and Jules, apparently, was Santa, handing out presents: a framed photo for me; a puzzle for Kai, who just wanted the damn leash. So he swatted and growled at Jules until they again erupted into a tumble of limbs. 

Sigh. Then I just started tuning it all out. So loud and so physical. I am very loud. But lately, I am very tired. (Which is apparent, apparently. Tonight, Julian asked me why I had two black eyes.) So I'm not so physical. But this point in the (still early) eve, my attitude was this: If you want to waste a bunch of energy rolling around on the floor, go for it.

Fireman, wresting, water fights... it wasn't until I was washing dishes in the kitchen and overheard a lesson on how to wipe one's @ss safely and effectively that it started to sink in: I live with a bunch of "boys" (who, in many ways, already behave as stereotypically defined). I will overhear many discussions of sh*t, and future ones won't be so instructional. There will be more play-fighting and yelling and water throwing. 

I think I need to start drinking more beer. 

Day 284

Tonight, I dressed to hop on the treadmill, but after the boys were tucked into bed and Jon left for a "real" run (outside) with Digs, I said screw it and opened up a bottle of Cab. Why? I anticipated what was about to happen (and what's still going on): Jules, shouting down the stairs for the fan... and then more music (since his CD ran its course). These "requests" I wouldn't hear if I were down in basement with headphones on, turned loud to out-sound the belt. Not good for my ears, I know.

The good news: I did get a few bursts of cardio in, sprinting up and down the stairs. And all of that loud sighing... I think that counts as deep breathing.

Why even try to exercise in the eve when I am a workout-morning kind of person? 1) Because working out in the morning isn't, um, working out and 2) it's a new trick I learned today from my friends on Facebook.

You see, I have come to be quite the crowdsourcer - and a voyeur of sorts. I've become a little obsessed with how other people make their lives work. So I ask. And I learn so much. Oh so much. Today, I posted this: 

Parents of young families in which all members must get out the door in the morning, dressed and fed, and in a (somewhat) timely manner: Please describe (in order) your morning timeline. Go! (And thank you.)

I got lots of responses. Good ones. I learned that I am not alone. Lots of peeps are, like me, running around like nut jobs in the morning while their kids whine, dawdle and watch the ever-annoying Caillou. I also learned that compared to some, I am a sloth. It appears that a good many of my friends are able to get what I might get done in an entire day before I even WAKE UP.

I also gleaned quite a few tips and tricks that I'm going to try in my own life (since laying out clothes and pre-packing lunches is only getting me so far): 

1. I am going to try (again, on another night) to exercise, and then shower, in the evening.
2. I am going to wake up early to the smells of my pre-set coffee pot--and my two alarms--and get 100% ready before the kids wake up. This should be easy if I shower the night before as I no longer have any hair.  (If things go well, I will unload the dishwasher and do other easy chores while the house is still sleeping.)
3. I am going to force myself into bed earlier. This will not be easy.
4. I am going to switch the boys' vitamin-getting time to morning, when incentives are more valuable. 
5. Inspired by Lisa P's "Market Place Morning" alarm (when the NPR show starts, it's time to MOVE),  I am going brainstorm novel ways to signal to the boys that it's "time" - time to move on to the next task. Playlist of the boys favorite songs? (Bad Romance, A-Punk...) 
6. I am going to get on board with Jon's quest to find our perfect home in the South End of town, which is 20 minutes closer, it seems, to EVERYTHING (except some of my favorite people). Any leads? 

Day 283

In my circles, discussions of why it's good to keep work at work, separate from life - or, sometimes, why that's not good - comes up a lot. For better or worse, my "work" and "life" have always been intertwined. (Most markedly when I'm freelancing full-time: then, I do laundry and go for runs during the day between interviews, which leaves me writing and editing at 1 a.m.)

But lately, my work and family lives are in some ways synergizing on parallel tracks. It's actually kinda cool.

At work, I'm on a team that's developing (delicious!) nutritionally balanced meal plans. At home, I'm trying to create a system of rotating healthy menus that are actually doable for our chaotic schedules. (Joanne: Stay tuned.) 

Stuffed!

At work, I'm establishing my next-year's goals - setting aims that are just out of reach so that I can grow and contribute to growth. At home, I'm drafting lists of little-boy responsibilities that will help channel outbursts of "itching for independence" into pride and confidence. That's big-time growth.

Jules, proud to be Jon's painting apprentice.

At work, I'm collaborating with colleagues to figure out efficiencies that will make everyone happier and more sane. At home, I'm collaborating with Jon to figure out efficiencies that will make everyone happier and more sane. 

Guess I'm not a compartmentalized kind of girl... 

Day 277

Some things about yourself are just hard to hear... but you appreciate the fact that someone has had the courage to say them. 

Tonight, just after bedtime (read: when Julian whined so convincingly that he was hungry that I started to believe him and let him come downstairs for a snack), I sat across from him and asked him a question I've asked him several times before.  This time I asked in an objective, curious - you might even say professional (recall: I am trained as journalist) - way: 

"Why do you so often ask for Daddy to read you books? Is there something I could do better when I read you books?"

Jules, peeling a clementine over his "Sunny Days" placement, glances up, and very seriously says this: 

"Mom. I should tell you: Some people are just not good at different voices. You can't talk like Grover. Dad is just like Grover. So I like him to read me books and pat my back."

This kid, I tell you, is very perceptive. I do suck at voices. And I know it. A few years ago in the Spielpalast Cabaret, I played Mika, a dancer, a coquette, a poor Polish girl - who basically turned out also to be mute because speaking with an accent, even speaking in a voice that wasn't my own, on stage, made me self-conscious. Very self-conscious. 

I'm not self-conscious using different voices to read to the boys. I am merely incompetent. Completely incompetent. I'll start off using a deep slow voice for Toad and switch to my normal tone when it's time for the narrator to talk. Then I try something dapper and peppy for Frog... but I can't nail it down. It's sort of a cross between Toad, myself and Humphrey Bogart on novocaine. Point is, the kid is right. I am "not so good at different voices." Jon's spirited storytelling style trumps my lame nighttime "reading" routine big time. Of course, Jules wants him to read the books.

The good news is that Jules not only provided an explanation for his parent reading preference, he also offered a prescription for improvement (when I asked him if I should practice). 

"Yes, Mom," he said. "You should practice. I'm going to tell you how long you should practice."

"Ok..."

"You should practice for 100 years." 

"I can't practice for 100 years, Jules."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Why can't you practice for 100 years?"

I chose my words wisely because (if you read this blog you know) I still have much to learn about discussing death with children. 

"I don't have that much time, Jules."

"Why? Because you might die?"

I nod slightly.

"Well then practice for 16 years," he said. "You should get a good Grover voice by then."

I can't make this shit up. Seriously. 

Day 276

Expectations will get you no where more often than not result in feeling frustrated... disappointed... guilty... or shitty in some other way. Right? I know it's better not to have them, to ground myself in the present, to absorb and embrace each moment as it comes, never assuming that I'll even make it to the next moment, much less imagining every detail that will define it.

But I'm a planner. And when things don't go according to plan, my tendency isn't to do a quick course direction - or forge a new whole path to some equally awesome destination. What I do, typically, is to drive around in circles until I run out of gas. Or something like that. 

In any case, this weekend taught me - again - that when I expect something (a day, an event, a trip) to be absolutely amazing, I'm setting myself up to be let-down. Least to some degree. But if I can just keep on, keeping on, catching whatever awesomeness comes my way, I have much more fun. 

Here's how this theory played out over the last three days.

Friday: Plans to hop the art with a friend (for which I had unreasonably high expectations) got messed up so I hit a few studios with the boys - just the little boys. (Think: grubby preschooler fingers fondling fruit and cheese platters, whining, running through crowded hallways in opposite directions). Went home, had dinner, put the boys to bed and read the fine print of the FDA's Code of Federal Regulations (for real) while Jon watched bad TV. Lame. Ruminated over how lame it was that I didn't rally and get my ass back downtown. Then... I got a text that one of my best friends had just delivered a perfect little girl. Yes, she was expecting (and a day overdue) so, no, this wasn't "unexpected" ... but it was awesome.  

Saturday: Unexpected invite to a super awesome Mad Men party in the 'hood, where I drank gimlets with lovely ladies (including the fabulous Steph D!) and dapper men. We somehow secured a sitter last-minute, threw together "costumes" from what we had on hand and had a blast. No expectations = incredibly fun night. 

"Don" did buy skinny tie special for the occasion.

Sunday: It was a perfect September day so, of course, I expected all fantastic things. A certain unnamed little person who lives with me threw a wrench into that outlook. It was bad. I tried all of the usual tricks recommended to combat bad behavior. Nothing worked. Finally, our fam of four made it out of the house for a hike, and Mother Nature - a wiser parent than I... obviously - smoothed things out. For a time. Then her magic wore off too. Still, the afternoon ended up better than I could ever have expected if I were to have predicted, at 10 a.m., how the rest of the day would go. 

Talking this little imp down out of the tree proved difficult.
But it makes for a pretty cool photo now, right?

A view this gorgeous exceeds all expectations. (Taken from the spot where Jon and I got married 8 years and a little less than 2 months ago... while Julian was dragging me by the arm back onto the trail. Whaddya you expect?) 

PS: This "Roll With It and Win" theory, by the way, would never really hold up 100% to my scrutiny (I believe that we all, to a large degree, shape our destinies) but generally, I think it's a pretty good life philosophy. 

Day 270

It was an awesome (long) holiday weekend. I took Friday off, planning to get things done around the (trainwreck that is our) house, then - last minute - decided to keep the boys home. They're only little once: I've been hearing that lots lately, along with the "soak up every moment of the next year" reminders from friends whose little ones have just gone off to kindergarten (or the fourth-grade), a year, or a few, ahead of Jules. 

So we three stayed home and we went to the aquarium and we ate crepes for lunch, out. We headed home and played outside. New friends invited us to a pool party and when Jon came home we all rallied and went. The kids had a blast. The dads took the kids home to bed and a bunch of us ladies lingered, then landed on a Sarah's porch for a nightcap. Good times. 

On Saturday, Jon made crepes (yum) while I slept late (yes, grateful), then we rode our bikes to the farmers' market where we bought plums and tomatoes that were sweet as candy, bags of mesclun and spinach and a bunch chard so pretty I was tempted to put it in a vase and place it on the mantel. (Okay, not really. But it was a good-looking bunch of chard.) Later, back at home, the boys played pirates and super heros, searching for the treasure Jon had hidden. I read my novel on a poppy Adirondack chair, sipping green tea, with a soundtrack of little boys' laughter. 

Sunday, we woke up early and drove to Jon's parents' house in the Adirondacks, where his parents pulled the four of us behind their boat on a raft until Kai (literally) fell asleep. The sun was warm, the water was shimmery, the boys were adorable and so happy. Jon and I acknowledged that this was a pristine "good old days" summer memory in the making. Back at the cabin, Jon's parents cooked us dinner, poured us wine and built a fire in the pit for S'mores. After the boys were in bed, we played Mexican train dominos. (Grateful for fantastics in-laws who treated us to an uber relaxing day in the mountains.)

Today, was a lot of prep for the week ahead but I got in a great run, another dinner - cheeseburgers and veggies from the market - out in the gazebo. Right now, as I look through my grateful, retrospective, lens the weekend was ABSOLUTELY perfect. What drops away when I capture the gratitude are the little annoying moments, the moments that define reality... the ones that make me question if I'm doing enough or doing it right. The moments like the ones... 

... when, on Saturday, the boys were running around with Jon (whom they often request when it's my turn to pat their backs or read them books), laughing their heads off, and I felt that I could just disappear with my novel and no one would ever notice.

... when, today at the store, Kai threw the vanilla greek yogurt in front of the olive cart and it splattered all over the floor and, then, when I was dealing with that mess, he proceed to dump a bag of Cheerios (which I gave to him as a distraction) on my head... and all of this entertained Jules wildly.

... when, today again, in a big parenting fail, I found myself locked in stubborn stand-off with Jules.

I'd told him, "No. You cannot give Dempsey more treats." 

He'd ignored me completely and headed out the back door with the jar. I grabbed it from his hands. He held on tight. "No more treats." 

"Yes." 

"No." 

"Yes." 

In a basketball game, the ref would have called jump ball. In a situation where the mom was acting like a proper adult, well, I'm not sure what would have happened. But here's what did happen. I pried the jar from Julian's grip. Because I am bigger and stronger ... and, apparently, a bit of a bully.

And then he punched me in the arm. 

What did I do? I yelled like a crazy person, "we do not hit." Then I forced him to sit on the black couch for four minutes. I set the microwave timer. 

After the timer beeped and J came over to apologize (me too), I asked him to look me in the eyes while he said it. He did. And this is what he said (after sorry), verbatim: Mom, I see myself in your eyes. For real. It looks just like me but smaller. 

He meant it literally: it's the first time he'd noticed his reflection like this. But I heard something much bigger.  Jules is, in so many ways, a miniature version of me. He's passionate. He sees through bullshit and lazy answers. He wants to know why. Why, why, why. He's a man with a plan who know what he wants. He likes to be in control. He doesn't like not to be in control. I get it. And it's nice to get a little reminder sometimes that that little person you're raising is just that - a little person, not a little extension of yourself. It's even nicer when you get a reminder in a way that melts your heart, right when your heart needs warmed up. 

I have a lot to learn about parenting effectively, I do. But I have good little teachers who deliver lessons in ways that speak to me. For that I truly am grateful... just not in the moment.

Like I said, it was a great weekend. For real.