old habits

Forgive me.  Really.  I say "sorry" way too much.  Ask my mom.  This is an old habit of mine that just has not gone away - albeit I don't really try too hard to erase the word from my vocabulary.  The word carries meaning no doubt, and under appropriate circumstances carries importance to someone for whom it's intended.  But perhaps not at the varying times/situations that I employ it.  It's habit, and an old one, so often subconscious.  I think this is where my mother often found difficulty in hearing or accepting it after a while.  Sort of, 'Carly Cries Wolf.'  ('Carly "Sorries" Wolf?')  They say things don't mean as much when stated too often; I didn't realize how much that statement meant or how right my mom was until I've recently heard my two year old repeating:  "I'm sorry."


I taught daycare for a total of about three years.  It was my first job out of college, and although I had parents (and acquaintances) refer to it as "playcare" or "what were you thinking??", it is really a tough gig.  Particularly as the top childcare centers now require their teachers to have teaching certifications, or better yet degrees in education.  (I worked for Bright Horizons Family Solutions who promises its clientele that soon all their staff will have a Bachelors in education.  I think they'd hoped by the year 2020 if I'm not mistaken -- and not too far away at this point.)  Academically aside, any job watching after and educating children of any age is strenuous.  I started out in preschool, but moved to (and quickly fell in love with) toddlers for the bulk of my time with the company.  There are so many wonderful 'firsts' with toddlers that I found enjoyable.  Let's get basic:  Walking.  Talking.  Using a cup sans lid.  Sounds so pointless, right?  Wrong.  SO incredible to engage with kiddos utilizing these life-long tools and discoveries, I was always so happy and in awe to be a part of their initial "a-ha!" moments like these in the classroom or out on the playground.  And despite it being a sad day when one of my most memorable kiddos, Ryan, didn't "need" me anymore to help him walk from the sensory table to his locker to get his coat on, we'd always have the next 'firsts' like how to put on that coat, or zip it up.  Toddlers, for me, were what was up.


So, by way of these incredible milestones they were achieving, including talking, I learned swiftly within the care of fellow BH staffers that there is great power in assisting the cherubs with the intent of their speech.  For instance -- "sorry" is to be used not repeatedly, not aimlessly, but with purpose.  In other words, the culture of Bright Horizons was not to force kids to say "sorry" if they did something wrong (and let's not tangent right now on what constitutes something as 'right' or 'wrong') or by mistake, but rather assess and encourage them to address what happened in a safe manner.  Scenario A)  Sally is playing with a toy.  Harry wants Sally's toy.  Harry walks up to Sally and grabs the toy from her hand.  Sally begins to cry.  Adult sees/hears this interaction take place, and makes Harry walk back over to Sally and give her her toy and dictates, "Harry, tell Sally that you're sorry."  From previous babysitting experiences and general observation of friends/families engaging with their own children, I saw this scenario play out numerous times in my life.  While there's not any absolute here, and not necessarily anything (again) wrong, it's just not what BH, or now myself as a parent, views as the most optimal usage of the word "sorry."


For what does this show Sally or Harry?  That there is a word that rectifies all missteps taken place by our friends or colleagues?  Or that there is a word that resolves any conflict without addressing the how's and why's of the situation?  Basically.  And it's just a cop-out essentially for the adult who observed said scenario and therefore believes that there is a word which needs no explanation or further input in shaping the children's growth and maturity levels for future conflicts.


Okay - this might be starting to look like a soapbox gone wrong.  I've been experiencing the cringe however.  The shoulder-raising-eye-squinting kind of cringe I imagine my mom must have first felt with me, as I have recently been hearing Elliot utter the words "I'm sorry" in circumstances that don't really need an apology.  And don't get me wrong, I believe there is importance to the phrase, and using it can truly affect more positively a situation that is unsafe, truly hurtful, or may need empathy.  I don't doubt that all words carry sentiment, and "I'm sorry" is included.  But when I am sitting on the couch watching Sesame Street with Elle, while feeding Oliver and checking Facebook like an asshole, and then hear "I'm sorry Mama" from sweet Elliot who has accidentally spilled her bowl of grapes.  I cringe.  I actually tear up (has happened already), and say, "Elliot, you don't need to be sorry, it's okay."  Then I put down my phone and try to be present with what has happened.  How many times has she heard me or Mike say "I'm sorry" for the all the silly things in life?  How often have I negotiated my way out of a hard task in front of her by saying "I'm sorry."  Old habits.  This is what I am getting at.  Yours will be different than mine, and mine is "I'm sorry."  I wear it on my sleeve, and Elle has caught on, thinking:  "If I say this I am forgiven; if I say these words I won't be hated."  Ughhh - not my proudest parenting moment so far.


And so, I work on now really listening to her as best as I am able, and if I hear this phrase under wishy-washy terms, I look her in the eyes and say, "how come you are sorry?"  Someday - and probably soon - I will likely get more of a reaction or response back from that question than a blink-blink and furrowed brow.  But what I am offering here is a chance for her to process the why.  She doesn't need to be sorry for accidentally spilling grapes.  And I want to be able to process that out with her.  She can be sorry for the circumstances as mentioned prior, i.e. safety (breaking a toy in half), hurtful (hitting her brother), empathy (supporting a friend - "I'm sorry your grandmother died").  But Elle can choose.  As I am sure all of you choose certain things.  I have family members that choose not to say "Bless you" when someone sneezes, for example.  The words/phrase doesn't carry the same weight for them as it does many others.


*Do note, by the way, Elliot is also in a daycare setting of her own three days a week, and Mike and I have observed individually from time to time at pick-up or drop-off there is often encouragement by teachers to the students of, "say sorry child X to child Y for issue ABC."  I get it.  It happens.  And thankfully it's not just my old habit that is affecting her.  No, the eternal struggle of nature/nurture/causal effects come into play here.  I just hope that as we parent, in addition to all of the kids' external factors, they remember that reflecting on why and how they are apologizing is as important as the "sorry" itself.  Hopefully whatever our kids' old habit is won't carry a negative connotation, but a mindful one.

upside down spring cleaning

....or in other words, a fall mess-around?  Just trying to say that this time of year, akin to the second quarter, always reminds me to 'clean house.'  No, not just because I am home with the kiddos/newborn for a couple extra months, looking into the face of everything dirty/rotten/wrong with the house.  And all in all that's not too long of a list, really.  My particular hygienic preferences for the home has followed me since childhood, and dear Mike has also succumbed now to keeping things in a very certain way.  He even gets mad when I do the laundry.  It's never the way he likes it :)

I suppose there shouldn't be just once or twice a year that we organize the living space.  But of course, as with anyone else, life happens.  And while both hubs and I would prefer the kitchen table's occupants only to include meals, placemats, and wine glasses and so we make great strides to keep it clutter-less (is there such a thing?), there is a plethora of other chores/oddities among our house I lovingly ignore, re:  DUSTING.  There is in fact many a cobweb I can see from the very chair in which I write; and even though their heavy population makes me cringe, I still deny myself and our family's overall health by not swiftly wiping them away.  Difficult?  No.  Time consuming?  Possibly.  Worth the effort?  I find it hard to believe...

We also try in our house to go by the 'one-in-one-out rule.'  Mainly with regards to clothes, but I suppose other things as well.  You know, you go shopping for yourself at one or two - or fifteen - of your favorite stores in a given afternoon, and then come home with a wardrobe you didn't realize was missing.  So, it's best in our minds to try and swap out blouse for blouse, shorts for shorts, that kind of thing.  We recycle most of the castaways to any given clothing donation bin, albeit it probably ideal for us to research a local, charitable hub or consignment store, or even sell the darn things.  (My neighbor does this for herself to feel fashionably fresh and make a buck - genius!)  Said current donation bag is sitting in our master bedroom at the moment.  And yet, just with Mike's things.  Less a couple pairs of shoes I knew would fit despite lingering post-baby weight.  Surely not trying to rush that process, although wouldn't I love it?  Feeling lovely enough just finding time to sit and type a moment in the middle of daylight.  (Why aren't I napping with him?!)  Yes, my clothes, especially work clothes, need a revamp.  But I can't find it in my heart - or my waist - to recycle anything just yet.  Isn't it true when you stare at a favorite pair of pants they'll shift magically into the size and shape of your present body form?  No?  Just a dream I had?

Well, I went to a recent work event, an Oktoberfest fundraiser, and got to see some coworkers and throw back a (much-deserved) beer.  Was a great reminder that adult stimulation is amazing no matter how I look or feel about how I look.  Just being able to stand up for two hours without holding a 10lb or 35lb dead-weight and discuss anything outside of nursery rhymes and sleep deprivation (although naturally the first things parents and I connected on was nursery rhymes and sleep deprivation) was pretty spectacular.  Hope to get out again soon.  Maybe even a date night with the husband??


Such a transition our family has gone through in the last six weeks.  Today marks one of those glorious days on which I can say it's generally a happy time.  Most of the hours until this point have been fine...but of course, challenging.  Lucky are we to have so many close friends undergoing the same struggles.  It's nice not to have to brave a face for anyone (although it is a poor habit/specialty of mine).  When things suck (and they can suck), at least then we can commiserate with others about how much they suck until they suck less by way of a shared mutuality.  Poetic, huh?


Okay, not my "cleanest" submission.  A tad scattered.  And I'm breaking my one-in-one-out rule - just adding to the virtual pile.  But more to come I am sure, in sanity and chaos, I'll try to keep you posted!

O is for Oliver

We welcomed our lil' man into the family on Labor Day (how 'punny') and are well on our way now to reminiscing and reexperiencing the (lofty) joys of sleep deprivation, hunger, and two-way disputes over who has higher emotional turmoil.  Ahhh, a newborn...


But on the other, primary, and very notable side, it brings us the utmost warmth to expand our family.  In literal and figurative contexts, this next chapter of our foursome is one way we will continue to spread love across our immediate and extended families & friends.  It would be difficult to not feel this way, but I admit, I had been combatting several different nerves surrounding this expansion throughout the pregnancy, and not just by way of the adding a second child to the mix, but adding a child period.  The whole process again with a young one: eat-sleep-diaper-repeat; feeling inadequate in the precept of generating a positive mother-baby bond; resenting the fact that my husband cannot lactate but breastfeeding is our preference; crying over the fact that I know my husband is an incredibly devoted caretaker and is my savior in just being there; and ultimately lamenting over my (chronic) guilt about money.  Ahhh, parenting...


Each one makes it (or fakes it until they make it) in their own way, and so the said nervous ticks may not resonate with you.  I think what any new parent deals with the most is questioning.  Questioning so much about their choices, their relationship, their physical and mental states.  And now because of the addition of a second, questioning anything from the first time - from yourself and all the other damn parties involved.  Deliriously delirious, but happy, so much conflicting information makes its way to you in the first hours and days after the babe arrives.  We go about it at a hospital, where there are many nurses, consultants, and services; with an OB practice that has several physicians; with a pediatric practice (same as the OBGYN).  At least everyone's on the same page, right?  Nope.  Not with everything and actually I realized this time, not with a lot of things.  All the little nuggets of mixed advice can create a steady increase in becoming more tearful and fearful.  "Feed him this many times a day/No this many times," "Sleep when he sleeps/Get shit done," "Do you want the flu vaccine for yourself now?/Eh, get it done later."  Note: head spinning.


Fortunately, we are sitting pretty at home now, beyond those first three days of it all and the medical check-ins.  And I get to sit here on the couch and blog about our familial shift while my cocoa bean and newest peanut nap not just soundly but simultaneously.  Not everything will be so sweet as this very moment, and we certainly will be lathered in more questions from others as we go, but at least I can write with more awareness that not all questions/suggestions carry the same weight or merit.  Oliver after all is a natural, formidable being who will root when he is hungry, close his eyes when he is tired, and sooner rather than later ask me questions himself for which I'll be held responsible to answer.

14

Nearly two weeks until Peanut is due, and just 3 days left until a (hopefully ) brief sabbatical from anything but naps, feet up, baths, and picking up the "tidbits" he could need....can someone say diapers??


Had a lovely little party/BBQ for Elliot's 2nd year this weekend, and it brought me so much joy and appreciation for good friends - especially with the lack of family physically nearby.  We've really created our own, small world down here in PA and it's not unnoticed that by way of our efforts it does feel like home.  Of course, we have our reflective bedtime discussions of packing it all up and moving back to New England; or across the country; what about Florence?


In the end, we aim to create our life of vivacity and achievement and challenge.  And we don't expect nearly as much now for things to fall into place exactly how we may have once envisioned.  I think it's pretty clear that no one can, life is a funny little universe unto itself that rotates wishes and goals amidst its molecular and biological predicaments and obstacles.


Remember, the beloved said it himself, "Happiness it not something ready made.  It comes from your own actions."  [Dalai Lama]

Oceanic

The midst of summer brings for me some swelling:  "my, this beach trip is fabulous and swell," or "wow, those feet are feeling swollen."  As always, our range of emotions fluctuates in truth and fib, ebb and flow, maturity and informality.  As I realize and recognize the power of what 8 weeks left are like as a 'single-child' mom, and realize and recognize my gleeful outlook on the 6 or 7 weeks worth of full-time work pre-peanut, these summer swells of which I write are actually no different than any seasonal wave:  we are always in flux, and understanding life as such can be as irregular a process as the state in which I propose we are...


Forgive my first paragraph, as it stems from a blank, consciousness stream and not from (as my older sister would have it) any grammatical tact.  I think I've struggled this year in writing more (and more eloquently?) due to discrepancies in my certitude and confidence with regards to having anything of value to type out.  Of value.  What can this even mean??  I know (in the concept of 'knowing' re: knowledge, capacity to be aware of) that any blog-o-spheric tidbit I write offers, if only to myself, the very beauty of getting something off of my chest.  But I've found it hard to let go (in the concept of 'letting go' re: release, ease up) of any individual or objective judgments impacting that writing.  And for what?  For holding myself and mind hostage?  "If it's still on your mind, it's still in your heart."  And what a powerful statement that can mean.  I need to write these things out sometimes.  I need not be afraid of the value placed upon it.  I simply want to break open my heart and pour some of my love and personal convictions outward.  That kind of spirit helps me journey within.


I put pressure on myself not only to write well, but often to write big.  Long.  Purposefully.  What I note about other bloggers and persons in my life that I cherish, who express themselves through art/physical manifestations, are that their contributions are not always so grandiose.  My sister just recently proved this point in her prose and in the philosophy of her latest post.  I yearn to read her usual quips, and simultaneously get sucked into her lengthier tales of wonder.  She, along with many others that I read, stake a deft place in mindful thinking and living, so effortlessly it seems.  But, when I re-read the messages within such posts, I find myself, and perhaps the universality of it all:  we each live in admiration and fear, in linear and circular patterns.


I don't often revise much of my posts outside of spell-check (which may be pretty obvious!)  And as I review my prose for today, I wonder what message it holds for you.  I am still wondering what it holds for me!  I think my consciousness stream has returned (forgive me, Lissa).  Perhaps this post is nothing more than a virtual tide to be washed away among the other posts on my blog.  Not "good," not necessarily "bad," but indifferent and full of foam.  Not meaningful, but not inconsequential.  Not stuck...


...but not steady.  Content in having written.  And hopeful to write again soon.  I also just hope to quiet my mind the next time of any subliminal pressure to do any more than just be.

drousy but not lousy

Spring has settled in, and pollen has almost sunken in.  It gets harder each year to deal with allergies, and yet harder still while pregnant.  I try not to take much of anything regardless of being 'with child,' however I am even more strongly/medically encouraged not to with the bun in the oven.  And so, while weeding out some of our dandelion monsters on the side of the house this morning, don't you know that a sneeze or two pops up in my way.  I wipe the mess with my dirty gloves off my chin, and continue on.  But only for a minute.  Low and behold, my body has now met the threshold of all the pollen it can take, and I lost count after 20 straight sneezes.  Must be a record!  Had to come in, wash my face, and whip out the acceptable Neti Pot - but I actually denied myself the struggle of pouring water through one nostril in hopes that it would flow effortlessly out the other.  Over the sink.  While still sniffling.  Seriously, and folks think that pregnancy is a cake walk, with all the drama at the end of 9 months in delivery.  It's not usually pretty, let's put it that way!


Regardless of this dreary congestion, the weather has been lovely.  It's so nice to have windows open, not pay for the AC to be blasting surely in just a couple months, and appreciate the aromatic (at times erotic?) scents of spring flowers and neighborhood gardens.  Even the dandelion dander this morning had me exhaling nostalgic sighs of dirt and sunlight.  And as we enter the crux of this season, our own Bean seems to blossom ever so fervently, shifting from her babe-like self to a toddling tot, perhaps even "kid."  As we are happy to welcome the one on the way, this time also makes me sigh hefty breaths of contentment mixed with sadness to observe just how fast the time flies.  We are hoping to soak up the summer months of Elle's final "only child freedoms" by taking more beach trips, museum and zoo visits, etc.  It's in this way that I can see why the first child in any family often gets deemed and doomed the title of 'spoiled.'  Elliot will be the only "only" child of the kids we have.  Each of them surely to have some important 1:1 time with Mom or Papa, but never without awareness of their older sister, Elle.  It is truly a special moment in time right now.


In the mean time, graduation has passed, and onto work I wander.  The same schedule (minus Saturdays, finally!) is helping maintain some sanity until Peanut arrives.  And in the even more exquisite fall weather I will be home for maternity time, prior to heading back to ideally a focus on my counseling.  Internship proved many things, including my desire for the field, and I look forward to the niche of populations and styles to which I can work on my technique and frame of reference.  If anything, it helps me ponder relationships in my life constantly - while being acutely aware never to be the family or friend therapist - and I aim, as always, to grow in the process of becoming a practitioner who fosters a warm and safe space for my clients to envelop on their journeys of self-awareness and coping.


So hopefully all this sneezing and impending hormonal glitches of instantaneous crying doesn't get in our way in the meantime.

Memories of Egypt

Hard for me to believe that this is the first post of 2014.  Not an indicator that so much has happened that I haven't had the time to sit down and reflect.  Nor is it an indicator that so little has happened -- I would most certainly propose the former.  Our family has gleefully absorbed some spring weather the last few weeks, which truly has saved anyone's psyche after the bitter, cold, and snowy winter PA shook down on us.  We also have welcomed another "bump" in the road - baby bump that is!  Expecting #2 this September, and it will be the family's first boy.  Both families, actually.  I, with three sisters, and Mike with a sis of his own, my dad's first reaction was also that shocking realization:  "A grandson!!  Wow, what do I do with a grandson?!"


Mike's reaction was actually somewhat similar to Gramps' statement.  Contextually different, Mike wanted another daughter, to which most friends, peers, and colleagues scoffed, "Really?!  Don't fathers always want at least one son?"  Anyone who really knows Michael, however, could never dismiss his sensitivity and affection for his baby daughter (or, yes, his beloved dog and wife).  He's really surrounded by women most of the time, and so that was my understanding of his desire for another girl.


Hubs and I took the day off together to find out "Peanut's" gender and grab a late lunch to celebrate - whichever blue or pink bundle the stork was planning on dropping by.  So, as he deliciously dipped his roast beef Au Jus, I inquired tentatively, "You sure you're okay with a boy this time?"  The conversation, as rich as our desserts, was insightful for us both - more so than I expected having known the mind of this man for over a decade; his answer was surprising but sensible.  Thoughtful and rational.  But still a mystery to me somewhat.  I've never doubted Mike's capabilities to be a good dad, as I had seen the way he takes care of so many beings in his life - from friends to puppies to well, you name it.  And the way he is with Elle is authentic and genuine and proof of this philosophical pudding.  He will bring all that much more curiosity and love for our son, and I can't wait to see him have a 'little man' under his wing.  *Unfortunately, his reason is not mine to exploit, so if you'd like to know what his hesitation was all about you can ask him for the juice!

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So, why the 'Egypt' titular reference, then?  As I was on a glorious, breezy, sunny, fresh walk with Winnie and E this morning, my nose brought me back to childhood, raised in earlier years by the comforts of rural Maine.  We lived on Egypt Road, in a paradise of ferns, wild blueberries, deer, and moss.  My sisters and I were inseparable usually - with one another and Mother Nature herself - and the aromatics from today were reminders of all that exploration as a kid.  Today when we returned home, Windsor lay on the grass chewing a tennis ball while Elle and I played with sidewalk chalk, stopping only now and again to munch some goldfish.  Barefoot and boisterous, Elliot decided to take off under the front yard maple and feel the lawn under her toes.  Her inquisitive stares back caused me to think, was this what my mom experienced with her 4 wood nymphs?  I merely nodded with a smile to "okay" whatever question Elle was asking of me, and so she continued to roam the lot (albeit smaller than our kingdom on Egypt), picking up sticks and offering them for Windsor to chew on.  The moment was so peaceful and heartwarming.  It appeared like one of those full-circle moments under which I was spellbound, gazing upon my little own bean in a way I presume most mothers/parents do.  Today I saw myself within her, and writing about it now brings some small, happy tears to my eyes.


Hopefully more news and reflection will present here sooner rather than later.  Professionally, I am forging ahead, and I will be happy to share that news soon.  But, if you have the chance today - no matter the weather - get some air in your lungs and moss under those toes!