Friday, March 29, 2013

On what becomes memories

My mom played Barry Manilow and Neil Diamond in the car a lot when I was little. I still know all the words to just about every Manilow song there is, and I can sing along to the entire soundtrack of The Jazz Singer. In some sad, sick way, I'm sort of proud of this.

I remember one rainy day in particular when I was about five - I think I'd just started kindergarten, so it was 1984. My mom drove a tan Camaro from the time I was four until I was ten. People often criticized and questioned her for driving a sports car when she had two small children. Her snappy retort was that it was the only time we'd actually fit in the back seat, and what did they expect - her to have a sports car when we were teenagers and could wreck it? (I love my mom's attitude sometimes.) I was sitting in the front seat of the Camaro feeling sorry for myself. I think it was late fall, because I can remember the leaves and the fact that I was wearing my purple corduroy overalls - I was scraping my fingers across the cords to make the fabric look like a grid instead of striped. We were listening to "Heartlight", a Neil Diamond song about ET ("Turn on your heartlight... in the middle of a young boy's dream... Don't wake me up too soon... Gonna take a ride across the moon... You and me...") I was mad because she wouldn't let me keep rewinding the tape to listen to that song over and over again - she made me wait through the whole rest of the tape. I was mad but knew better than to sass her about it, and I was sulking while I watched the wipers squeak back and forth across the windshield. I can still remember what it felt like to be that small, and what the windshield looked like from that low angle in the bucket seat. I can still remember the reds and oranges of the autumn leaves rolling by as we drove past them, on the way to somewhere that seemed very far away at the time.

And while some things still seem so far away... I love the way my memory calls them back to me when I need them.

It makes me wonder what my kids will remember. What am I doing that is inadvertently being etched into their memories? Elizabeth in particular has given me some clues that she seems to remember finer details in the same way that I do. Is it the '90s music that I tend to play in the car? Or maybe the purple and blue skirt that she insists on wearing whenever it's clean? Or (most likely) something that I'm not even considering? I'd like to think it's the good stuff in general, but I know better. I remember a lot of the bad days, and I'm sure she will too. And that's okay. Rose colored glasses, especially looking backwards, never did anyone any favors.

If I'm hoping though, I hope she remembers how much she loved Joan Osbourne's "One of Us," personally. She calls it "The Bus Song" -

What if God was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us?
Just a stranger on the bus

Tryin' to make his way home?

I'll remember, even if she doesn't.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

That was then, this is now.

Today I am 34.

If you told me ten years ago that on my 34th birthday, I would quite happily spend my day attending Palm Sunday services, watching Peter Pan with my husband and kids, and then going roller skating with the Daisy troop I lead - I would have laughed so, so hard.

That's okay though. I just didn't know.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

It Doesn't Matter.

When you have a baby, everyone wants to tell you what to do and how to do it. They tend to speak in absolutes - you MUST do it this way, or you HAVE to do it that way, or the worst - this is what's BEST. You need to do WHAT'S BEST.

If you're not careful, you can start to feel like everyone knows best. Everyone except you.

I'm here to tell you, seven years' worth of advice later (because it starts before you actually give birth, of course) - Most of that crap? It doesn't matter. Most of the things you lose sleep over when your baby is brand new do not matter a hill of beans in just a few short years. And I would argue - they never really mattered that much at all.

For example:

I was on a high horse about breastfeeding for a long time. I was never really an evangelist (and there are some crazy ladies out there pushing the agenda, let me tell you,) but I was super proud of the fact that I nursed two kids, both of them exclusively for six months. I pumped 'round the clock when I went back to work, and they were still nursing from the tap when I was with them - Elizabeth until she was 25 months old and Jacob until he was 21 months old. Neither of my kids ever had formula. While I never actually bragged about that out loud... I did in my head. I patted myself on the back a lot.

Seriously, who cares? Feed your baby. Feed your baby in whatever age appropriate way works for that baby, for you, for your family. I might judge you a little if I see you trying to feed your three month old steak, but Similac? Have at it. Nobody asked me on Elizabeth's first day of kindergarten whether she was breastfed or formula fed. You know why? BECAUSE IT DOESN'T MATTER.


There are a lot of people both on the internet and in real life just ITCHING to judge parents, in whatever way they possibly can. Breastmilk vs. Formula. Cloth vs. Disposable. Cosleeping vs. Crib. Wooden toys vs. Plastic toys. Screen time in ANY FORM. "Overscheduling." Public school vs. Private school vs. homeschooling. The list goes on and on and on and on.

Other people have said this already, but I'm going to say it too - here's what it comes down to, no matter what:

Love your kid. Feed your kid. Spend time with your kid. Teach your kid.

Mostly, love your kid. And leave that other mom who doesn't do it quite the way you do alone.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Evolution

2001
Things are always so sparkly when they're new.

2005
Sometimes they even stay that way through the wedding! ;)

2006
But if you're us... you get pregnant on your honeymoon and by your first anniversary, you have a demanding little ball of needs...
...and by your second anniversary, an entire year can go by and suddenly there aren't even any pictures of the two of you together. (2007? What 2007?)

2008
Of course, babies don't usually stay quite so demanding... and for some reason parenthood tends to give people really short memories...

2009
So maybe you make another one.

2010
Once in awhile you might remember to have the photographer snap your picture when you're really there for portraits of the kids.  Because you totally get caught up in babies that turn into toddlers that turn into preschoolers... and it just keeps going like that.


2011
I mean, you could occasionally get an evening out for a wedding or something like that.


2012
But mostly? You're juggling these little people and what they need - and somewhere along the line, things changed. A lot.

And that's okay. Because there's always a new path to go down, and honestly? What's the point of all this if you aren't going to let it change you along the way? I'm just happy to be able to keep changing with him.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Construction Zone

Shortly before Dan and I got married, someone who I thought was my friend broke my heart. Without going into the details (which in hindsight seem a little silly to me anyway) let me just say that this particular situation, coupled with a whole lot of rapid changes in my life - marriage, pregnancy, a new baby, parenthood, and most of my day-to-day friends at the time moving cross country - it was a recipe for disaster.

I built up a lot of walls. It wasn't the first time, but in the past I'd built them up, and knocked them down, built them up, and knocked them down. This time - I knew I was not knocking anything down ever again. I was completely uninterested in making new friends, even though our status as new parents almost necessitated it. I was done with making myself vulnerable. I had a new marriage and a new baby to protect, letting anyone else into my fragile heart seemed like a monumentally stupid idea.

You can't stop it, though. Or at least I can't seem to, even when I'm actively trying. I've always had a bit of a sense for walking into new situations and being able to zero in on the one or two people in the room who might eventually become important to me in some way. Sometimes it takes awhile for it to actually play out, but I'm rarely wrong - and I often have very clear memories of our earliest encounters, or even just the first time I see someone. Even so, I've spent the last several years keeping people at arms' length - even people who my gut has told me are the right ones.

Some of them have probably slipped away. But some didn't, and let me tell you - I am crazy lucky for it.  Someone who is now very dear to me had to actually say to me two or three times "Hey - feel free to cultivate a friendship with me" - and it took me months and months to actually do so. I am so fortunate that she didn't just shrug her shoulders and give me up as a lost cause.

What I'm trying to say, and not doing it very well - is that it's nice to have friends again. It has taken a very, very long time. But I think I have finally built some doors and windows into my walls.