So after all of my complaining 5 is turning out to be a pretty good age at our house. It's hard to know what exactly has inspired the change but here are my thoughts on contributing factors:
1) Getting older. My daughter is just plain older and working through some of the developmental issues that plagued us at age 4... like the frequent door slamming, kicking, and use of inappropriate words. I'll admit it all here. She was a real handful and oftentimes acting in ways that did not make a mother proud.
2) Conscious Discipline by Becky Bailey. A friend suggested this program many (many!) months ago and I could not get into it. But then it was offered locally in a round of sessions that fit oh-so-conveniently into our schedule. After realizing during the first class that much of the program hinged on me changing my reactions and behaviors (oh crap!), I was gradually bought in. Now I'm all in. Using the strategies of the program has been life changing at our house. Hard to describe in a few words but much of it has to do with responding to and meeting your kid at their appropriate developmental level. And it's all about empathy and firmness, things we've found our daughter responds well to. Check it out for yourself- www.consciousdiscipline.com.
3) Working less frenetically. It's no secret to those who know me that I am quite passionate about my work. I love it. I believe in it. But over the spring and summer my work pace was getting quite frenetic. It's not the kind of job that you leave at the office. I started to realize earlier this fall that the less stressed I was about work, the more time- better time- I was able to give my daughter. Duh! And she has really thrived under the new pace and better attention. And, likewise, she has not done so well as my pace has picked up again. It's been hard to downshift because I'm so driven about my work. But, when all's said and done, I'll always have the time to work that way again; this special time with my daughter is ephemeral. I know, I'm starting to sound a bit like a broken record about all this time's-a-wastin' stuff. But it's true.
I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. I know there will be the occasional dips as we go. But I'll take the changes, regardless of the reasons! And here's to hoping 13 will be as peaceful as 5...
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Guest Blogger ~ Graveyard Shift
A friend and I were talking about my blogging awhile ago, shortly after I started. I was sharing with her how cathartic it is to be able to write it all out. I invited her to contribute a post or two or seven. And she has done just that. Here it is... enjoy!
Graveyard Shift
Just over a week ago, I was behind on a project very close to deadline, and I found myself needing to stay up late—very late—to make the required headway. Strangely enough, I was never one to pull all-nighters studying in college and had an infant who slept through the night at ten days old. But the late night has become something of a standard practice, especially with copy editing work, and I actually enjoy the quiet and focus available after the rest of the family is sound asleep. This particular time, though, late turned into early. I took two hour-long naps on the couch but otherwise stayed up all night. We happened to be visiting my parents at the time, and my mom was the first one up to find me in the clothes I had been wearing when she went to bed. I could read the concern and question in her voice as she realized I’d never turned in the night before, but I was not worried in the least. It quickly came to me that the best way to help her understand was to say, “Just think of it as working the ‘graveyard shift.’”
And so it is. Regardless of my self-identity as part of the “professional class” (my dad was an M.D.), my actual socioeconomic situation is not. The house we live in, the cars we drive, the places we shop—these things are more wholly consistent with people who routinely have graveyard shift jobs to make their lives work. (That’s not to say that ER docs never work the graveyard shift, but you know what I mean.) I’m fortunate to choose it, to have the opportunity to be home for impromptu playdough parties and trips to the park. But nonetheless, there is work that needs to be done, and sometimes I need the graveyard shift to get it done. I don’t love it, I explained to my mom, but neither do I resent it. In fact, over the months I’ve found it a unique spiritual experience that perhaps I should choose for myself even when I don’t even have work to do.
Staying up all night is obviously miserable in the aftermath; in the morning you feel dirty and strung-out and have to function somehow anyway. I do not look forward to whatever preschooler whining or defiance the day might bring in combination with being dog tired. But something about my over-tired state makes me more aware of my potential for choosing unwisely. There are always plenty of circumstances that could warrant my annoyance or even anger. But often after a late night, I find myself immersed in a good day, a calm day, almost as if the tiredness conjures up a peace and unflappability that exists entirely outside of myself.
My experience of the “graveyard shift” in many ways reminds me of the ancient Christian spiritual practice of “the watch,” a fancy way to denote staying up all night “watching” for God—listening, praying, singing, or doing other Godwardly-focused activities to keep oneself awake. Other disciplines of withdrawal (like fasting, silence, simplicity, and solitude) are similar. The goal is to foster dependence on God rather than on the things that usually keep us occupied. The temporary denial of these natural (and, incidentally, good) impulses—and the requisite hunger, exhaustion, the desire company or the longing to express yourself—remind the individual to turn to God for strength, for company, to work for and defend what is good and right and best. Ultimately, yielding these needs to God makes a person all the more joyful and appreciative of them when they are met—not simply that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but because absence proves to us that survival is not merely filling our bellies or pursuing our life goals. To survive at the deepest level is to tap into a Peace that does not require sleep, a Joy not tied to feeling happy, a Love without conditions. A shock to the system snaps us back into our proper orbit, corrects our common tendency to make ourselves the center and view life as though everything revolves around us.
And yet I cannot seem to rise above this tendency enough that I regularly perceive my need for radical reorientation. Instead I plug along at the status quo and experience my desperation only when I’ve pursued a self-centered end, like skipping lunch so I can keep working, or staying up late to watch my television pleasure du jour (currently—don’t laugh—the early seasons of Smallville). In other words, I’d make a pitiful nun. But the truth is, I’m not a nun or an ascetic: I’m a wife, a mommy, a daughter, a sister, a worker, and a friend. So I’ll take my times of refreshing and uncomfortable realization of dependence where I can get them—for now, from the graveyard shift.
Graveyard Shift
Just over a week ago, I was behind on a project very close to deadline, and I found myself needing to stay up late—very late—to make the required headway. Strangely enough, I was never one to pull all-nighters studying in college and had an infant who slept through the night at ten days old. But the late night has become something of a standard practice, especially with copy editing work, and I actually enjoy the quiet and focus available after the rest of the family is sound asleep. This particular time, though, late turned into early. I took two hour-long naps on the couch but otherwise stayed up all night. We happened to be visiting my parents at the time, and my mom was the first one up to find me in the clothes I had been wearing when she went to bed. I could read the concern and question in her voice as she realized I’d never turned in the night before, but I was not worried in the least. It quickly came to me that the best way to help her understand was to say, “Just think of it as working the ‘graveyard shift.’”
And so it is. Regardless of my self-identity as part of the “professional class” (my dad was an M.D.), my actual socioeconomic situation is not. The house we live in, the cars we drive, the places we shop—these things are more wholly consistent with people who routinely have graveyard shift jobs to make their lives work. (That’s not to say that ER docs never work the graveyard shift, but you know what I mean.) I’m fortunate to choose it, to have the opportunity to be home for impromptu playdough parties and trips to the park. But nonetheless, there is work that needs to be done, and sometimes I need the graveyard shift to get it done. I don’t love it, I explained to my mom, but neither do I resent it. In fact, over the months I’ve found it a unique spiritual experience that perhaps I should choose for myself even when I don’t even have work to do.
Staying up all night is obviously miserable in the aftermath; in the morning you feel dirty and strung-out and have to function somehow anyway. I do not look forward to whatever preschooler whining or defiance the day might bring in combination with being dog tired. But something about my over-tired state makes me more aware of my potential for choosing unwisely. There are always plenty of circumstances that could warrant my annoyance or even anger. But often after a late night, I find myself immersed in a good day, a calm day, almost as if the tiredness conjures up a peace and unflappability that exists entirely outside of myself.
My experience of the “graveyard shift” in many ways reminds me of the ancient Christian spiritual practice of “the watch,” a fancy way to denote staying up all night “watching” for God—listening, praying, singing, or doing other Godwardly-focused activities to keep oneself awake. Other disciplines of withdrawal (like fasting, silence, simplicity, and solitude) are similar. The goal is to foster dependence on God rather than on the things that usually keep us occupied. The temporary denial of these natural (and, incidentally, good) impulses—and the requisite hunger, exhaustion, the desire company or the longing to express yourself—remind the individual to turn to God for strength, for company, to work for and defend what is good and right and best. Ultimately, yielding these needs to God makes a person all the more joyful and appreciative of them when they are met—not simply that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but because absence proves to us that survival is not merely filling our bellies or pursuing our life goals. To survive at the deepest level is to tap into a Peace that does not require sleep, a Joy not tied to feeling happy, a Love without conditions. A shock to the system snaps us back into our proper orbit, corrects our common tendency to make ourselves the center and view life as though everything revolves around us.
And yet I cannot seem to rise above this tendency enough that I regularly perceive my need for radical reorientation. Instead I plug along at the status quo and experience my desperation only when I’ve pursued a self-centered end, like skipping lunch so I can keep working, or staying up late to watch my television pleasure du jour (currently—don’t laugh—the early seasons of Smallville). In other words, I’d make a pitiful nun. But the truth is, I’m not a nun or an ascetic: I’m a wife, a mommy, a daughter, a sister, a worker, and a friend. So I’ll take my times of refreshing and uncomfortable realization of dependence where I can get them—for now, from the graveyard shift.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
The Power of Show Tunes
Anyone who spends more than 5 minutes with our family unit realizes I am not the preferred parent. Daddy is king at our house and I'm okay with that... most days. But, really, what mother doesn't have fantasies about ultimate mother-daughter bonding moments? And who expects their daughter to start rejecting them at age 3? You think I'm exaggerating. I'm not. Since about 3-years-old my daughter has thought of her father and me- especially me- as only necessary to get her what she wants. Even as recently as today she was complaining that she is often forced to do whatever her dad and I want to because we drive and she doesn't. We had to break it to her that she can't drive for another 10 1/2 years.
Understandably, I look for small moments of "bonding." I take them (read: steal them) when I can. Enter show tunes. My love of Glee (Season 1 in particular; has it already jumped the shark for Season 2? Discuss...) is no secret. And I often download the music. My kid steals my iPhone whenever we buckle into the car; we listen to Glee music. Over and over again. And we sing. At the top of our lungs. Okay, some are inappropriate (Like A Virgin?) but some are just plain magical. Have you really listened to Defying Gravity lately? Who can't help but feel uplifted by that? So, we sing. And enjoy. And bond.
Understandably, I look for small moments of "bonding." I take them (read: steal them) when I can. Enter show tunes. My love of Glee (Season 1 in particular; has it already jumped the shark for Season 2? Discuss...) is no secret. And I often download the music. My kid steals my iPhone whenever we buckle into the car; we listen to Glee music. Over and over again. And we sing. At the top of our lungs. Okay, some are inappropriate (Like A Virgin?) but some are just plain magical. Have you really listened to Defying Gravity lately? Who can't help but feel uplifted by that? So, we sing. And enjoy. And bond.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The Standoff
Our levy failed yet again yesterday for what seems like the umpteenth time. Let me clarify two things: I supported the levy yesterday because it was an emergency replacement levy and not a permanent levy but have not done so automatically in the past few years. I'm a little fed up. That's saying a lot for someone who used to be an automatic levy supporter. Support the kids; support the schools? Absolutely!
But now, with this last failure, I feel like there is a dangerous culture brewing. A culture of impasse. The district no longer sees these failures as a message regarding the importance of taking stock and making some much-needed constructive changes. Instead, they have assumed a slash and burn mentality. Cut, cut, cut more programs. Likewise, the voters, getting sick of cuts with no other plans or transformation behind them seem to be intent on resending the message, 'no more money for you until we see something that indicates change.'
A standoff. Sigh. I fear this whole situation is leading to a downward spiral that is going to do nothing for anybody, least of all our children or property values. I'm just hoping for some dialogue and someone who has the courage to break this cycle. Please??
Until then, anyone know of a nice place to live in the Cloverleaf District?
But now, with this last failure, I feel like there is a dangerous culture brewing. A culture of impasse. The district no longer sees these failures as a message regarding the importance of taking stock and making some much-needed constructive changes. Instead, they have assumed a slash and burn mentality. Cut, cut, cut more programs. Likewise, the voters, getting sick of cuts with no other plans or transformation behind them seem to be intent on resending the message, 'no more money for you until we see something that indicates change.'
A standoff. Sigh. I fear this whole situation is leading to a downward spiral that is going to do nothing for anybody, least of all our children or property values. I'm just hoping for some dialogue and someone who has the courage to break this cycle. Please??
Until then, anyone know of a nice place to live in the Cloverleaf District?
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Will I Be Able To Remember All This?
I'm a big fan of Anna Quindlen and have several of her works, compilations of past columns and her more recent books. One of the things I envy about her is that she is recording her life lessons for her kids. They will always have a written record of the things she has learned in life and the wisdom she has to impart. She will never have to worry if she remembered to tell them everything. Whether they choose to read it or heed it is not the point. It's there. In print. When my daughter was born, I inevitably started thinking about the aspects of my life and personality aspects that I wanted to share with her. The traits I hoped she'd inherit and those that I thought I'd do my damnedest to not pass on. But how do you remember everything? I could get hit by a bus any day and have I impressed upon her enough that, most times-- always?-- it's better to believe in yourself at the risk of going against the crowd?
My mother-in-law started telling her at a very, very young age (2 weeks, maybe?), "Question authority." I love this. It's quick, easy, wise, and highly memorable. I need to start making up some of those myself. I can turn them into little family sayings-- something besides "you can't always get what you want" (yes, think Rolling Stones) which seemed to be the mantra as we navigated the treacherous waters of 4-years-old, now much better at 5. Then maybe I can just jot them down finally and tuck them away somewhere safe.
And I'd also like to start recording the things my daughter says. All those gems she imparts in such a way that only a little tyke can but that make perfect sense. A lot to be learned there, in-between the pint-sized tyrant proclamations. My current favorite is the word "puffy." We try not to use the word "fat" in our house because I think it's just plain unkind. So, instead, my daughter came up with the word "puffy" to describe people of a more generous bearing. I love it! Because it's so descriptive. Because it's so neutral in terms of judgment. Try it, you might like it.
So, I feel a bit like time's a wastin' here. My daughter is now five and I've been a cliche-laden wreck. Where has the time gone? They grow old so fast... Pretty soon she'll be a teenager... so, for the time being, I keep grabbing my camera and hope that I can capture just a bit of the ephemera.
My mother-in-law started telling her at a very, very young age (2 weeks, maybe?), "Question authority." I love this. It's quick, easy, wise, and highly memorable. I need to start making up some of those myself. I can turn them into little family sayings-- something besides "you can't always get what you want" (yes, think Rolling Stones) which seemed to be the mantra as we navigated the treacherous waters of 4-years-old, now much better at 5. Then maybe I can just jot them down finally and tuck them away somewhere safe.
And I'd also like to start recording the things my daughter says. All those gems she imparts in such a way that only a little tyke can but that make perfect sense. A lot to be learned there, in-between the pint-sized tyrant proclamations. My current favorite is the word "puffy." We try not to use the word "fat" in our house because I think it's just plain unkind. So, instead, my daughter came up with the word "puffy" to describe people of a more generous bearing. I love it! Because it's so descriptive. Because it's so neutral in terms of judgment. Try it, you might like it.
So, I feel a bit like time's a wastin' here. My daughter is now five and I've been a cliche-laden wreck. Where has the time gone? They grow old so fast... Pretty soon she'll be a teenager... so, for the time being, I keep grabbing my camera and hope that I can capture just a bit of the ephemera.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
What summer?
I don't know about you, but it's now September and I'm finding myself asking, "where did the summer go?" I know I was here and it was May... and now it's the beginning of September. Crazy! I've heard this is what happens when you get older; time passes more quickly. Truth be told, I'm looking forward to the fall. It's my favorite season and, after years of trying to put the shine on, I've finally come to terms with the fact that I'm just not a summer person. I don't like heat, especially when it creeps towards 90 degrees with 90% humidity. I'm not so great at days and days of unstructured time. And I'm certainly not good at entertaining my five-year-old who was bored starting sometime in mid-June. So here's to fall! And crisp fall days. The scent of wood burning fireplaces. Beautiful vibrant colors. Snuggling under the comforter at night. Wearing sweaters and sweatshirts again. Now, if we could only stop the arrival of winter.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Back on the Wagon
I've found it! I've written before about my on and off relationship with exercise. I'm not one of those people who eagerly bounds out of bed in the morning to go run my 5K. However, as I've mentioned previously, I really enjoy tennis. But, alas, it's a time limited venture since I play outdoors, live in Ohio, and my partner has turned realtor mogul (go Pam!) so our complicated schedule has become even more complicated. Enter serendipity. Last winter I was invited to join a yoga group being held at a friend's house. I was a little trepidatious. The last time I tried yoga was in the mid-90s in the attic room of my local YMCA. It was hot; it was boring; I thought I would poke my eyes out. But I'm down with the karmic energy so I though I'd give it a whirl again. I love it! I love the teacher, who creates new routines for us every week (no more boredom) that seem to be the perfect balance a good workout, a good stretch, and a monkey mind tamer. Best of all, I love what it's doing for my energy level and body. Once I hit 40 I was feeling a bit pessimistic about the change potential of my body. But I've discovered in the last 4 months, do enough downward dog and plank and I can have biceps again. And start to cultivate long and lean muscle mass again. I'm not kidding myself- I won't ever look like Madonna (who am I kidding? I never looked like Madonna... except for a brief period of time in the 80s when I wore lace gloves and neon bracelets) but I can look like a better 40-year-old version of myself. And feel better. I'm back on the wagon again.
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