"For children, summer should be a time to decompress, to explore at their own pace, to do absolutely nothing. To imagine, perchance to dream..." Ellen Nicholas Rathbone
According to a recent article printed by The Atlantic free play is a marvelous and vital part of summer that's often being swallowed up by a jam-packed schedule of events that's sometimes even busier than the school year. The article argues that the LESS time children spend in structured, adult-directed activities, the better it is for their self-development, ability to reach goals and their imaginations. I decided to put this theory into practice today to see if things would quickly deteriorate into a shit show.
Wednesdays I watch my niece and nephew (10 and almost 8, respectively) for 8-9 hours. Add my toddler and my 6 year old to the mix and that's a lot of unstructured play. I scrapped plans today to take them to mini golf and the park, I put away the stack of board games I was going to play with them and I put a ban on screen time OF ANY KIND. And then I sat back, added water and watched the fun.
It turns out that they were just fine without my interference. Better, actually, I'm embarrassed to admit.
The kids found an old magic set and started learning tricks to show me as I folded laundry. They built with legos and created a castle of k'nex. When I went out to water the garden, they offered to help which soon became a hilarious, beyond fun water fight. They found the other hose attachment, rustled up buckets and worked as a team to soak me and each other. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard or got such strange looks from my neighbors. Keep in mind that I didn't say "Okay, children, put on your bathing suits. We will now have a water fight." It happened organically and spontaneously. I had to put all their clothes in the dryer afterwards but so what?
We sat in the dining room and ate sandwiches and fruit for lunch. They asked me to tell them a story about the worst thing I did as a child. (A food fight I poorly chose to initiate.) They asked if we could bake cookies. I said yes and got out all the ingredients. They chose which ones to put in (sprinkles and chocolate chips yes, coconut or almonds definitely not). The played Zingo and The Memory Game. I told them I would need a half an hour to send my editor a book review that was due and the four of them went upstairs to read to themselves or one another and draw. At this moment they are playing a game called "Fort" in which they have made my entire sitting room into...well..a fort. They are delegating who is guarding what exit and doing some kind of push-ups as part of their training. "We will defend our base!" they yell at some common, invisible enemy. "I have a very bad feeling about this." I hear my son say. They are laughing. I ask them if they need anything. "More blankets" is the answer. I didn't teach them the game "Fort". I never even heard of the game "Fort." But they are so excited and having a grand ole time.
I don't mean to paint any kind of an idyllic picture of "free play" here or insist it's some kind of utopia. I'm shocked that there hasn't been one scuffle. However, I am humbled by what a ball the kids are having when they are given a safe space to freely decide, create and direct the action. This is not something they get to do all year at school.
I stress more times than I like to admit thinking of how to challenge, delight or otherwise occupy my children. I try to plan outings, play dates, visits to interesting places and neat events. I try to plan time for reading to them, movie nights, picnics on the beach. It turns out I've been wasting my time and energy here. What fools we modern day parents can be.
So today we did nothing. I took them nowhere. I organized zilch. But they are loving every second of this not-so-lazy day of summer.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Say Cheese?
My second favorite thing to view on Facebook is pictures of people's children, especially those kids whom I barely get to see because they live far away.
My first favorite thing to view on Facebook is pictures of people's food.
Lately, I've been getting some slack (albeit loving slack) because I don't post enough pictures of my kids, Big A and Little D on Facebook. It's true, I don't post a ton of pictures of my children, although I feel I come through for holidays and other events like tooth losing or "eating a giant ball of cotton candy". Today I went out of my comfort zone and posted a picture of Big A at the bus stop with his homies.
When I'm chided by friends to post more photos (generally by those whose kids are grown, live far away or those who don't have kids) I feel warmed that people care enough about my offspring that they want to keep up with their progress. And yet, I'm probably not going to increase the volume of my photo posts. A few times a month is all I can manage.
Some parents are wonderful photographers. They have kickass cameras and they are amazing at capturing the moment. Two moms I know, Heidi and Catherine, were such a amazing amateur photographers that they are now professional photographers. My friend Beth is a fantastic amateur photographer, and some of my favorite beach pictures have been taken by her, when I had no idea I was being photographed. In the below picture I was pregnant with my daughter while my 3 year old son had fallen asleep trapping me in a beach chair for two hours. This photo is incredibly meaningful to me.
But I don't possess the same flair for capturing the moment when it comes to my own kids. Here's why.
My phone is my camera. I try very hard not to have my phone with me at all times, but particularly when I'm spending time with my children. (This HAS NOTHING to do with the fact that two previous phones were destroyed due to Little D drooling on them and my insurance was cancelled. Nothing whatsoever.) My phone, with it's bells, whistles, texts and connection to Upworthy is too irresistible of a distraction. This is why I miss calls all the time and I'm even worse at checking my voicemails. So my phone is never close enough to capture much of anything in a timely fashion.
I used to really try to scramble for my phone and snap up something cute the kids were doing. I would rush around for my phone, zip back to my kids and yell "Okay, hold that pose! Put your arm around her again! Smooch her head like you were before!" And then sh*t got weird like those pictures of naked babies arranged in flower pots or rugs...cute...but staged.
It was around then that I noticed that I am not someone who is able to capture the moment and still be present to what is happening. When I'm stopping to document something happening with my kids, I am not as good at remembering it. My memory seems to give up, kick back and eat a bag of Cheetos, it would seem, replacing my memory of that moment (and its accompanying emotions) with whatever picture came up on my phone.
I figured out that I was forsaking actual memories for documentation. And it's not that I take NO pictures of my children, because I certainly do. It's just that I take LESS pictures of my children these days because, ironically, I seem to bear better witness to their photo-finish-worthy hijinx or precious moments when I don't remove myself from the situation and get behind the camera. Strange, but true. My sister Chrissy doesn't post too many pictures either...but when she does they are usually awesome so everybody generally pays attention, wildly slapping the "Like" button like a bunch of sugar-crazed children at Yestercades.
When a woman from my writers' group, Barbara, wrote an exceptional piece about this topic a few months ago, ( I wish you would share it on FB!) I found myself nodding along and fighting the urge to yell "Amen!" She wrote that if you're taking TOO many photographs or videos from OUTSIDE the moment, there's really no way for you to be inside the moment, really experiencing it. It's because of this that I often offer to take over the camera when I'm at a friend's child's birthday party. The mom gets to experience the celebration for her child and be IN THE PICTURES rather than behind the camera and out of the action like we all usually are.
It would be ideal if my husband was a whiz with a camera or loved to take pictures but he is much, much worse than I am about taking pictures. When Big A went off the kindergarten this past Fall, my husband shocked the hell out of me (and probably himself) by capturing this completely candid photo where both my son and I were unaware that we were being photographed. I was walking Big A to the bus stop for the first time. While I'm moved, touched and inspired by the fact that this photograph exists, I'm glad to know that I didn't have to drop my son's hand and remove myself from our walk to take a picture, hence ruining the moment.
Since I make a conscious effort not to take too many pictures, when friends or family members capture something beautiful on film, it is all the more poignant to me. Because a gifted photographer I am not. When I remark "Say Cheese!" rather than whipping out a camera, I'm more likely to be grabbing a box of crackers and calling everyone in for a snack.
My first favorite thing to view on Facebook is pictures of people's food.
Lately, I've been getting some slack (albeit loving slack) because I don't post enough pictures of my kids, Big A and Little D on Facebook. It's true, I don't post a ton of pictures of my children, although I feel I come through for holidays and other events like tooth losing or "eating a giant ball of cotton candy". Today I went out of my comfort zone and posted a picture of Big A at the bus stop with his homies.
When I'm chided by friends to post more photos (generally by those whose kids are grown, live far away or those who don't have kids) I feel warmed that people care enough about my offspring that they want to keep up with their progress. And yet, I'm probably not going to increase the volume of my photo posts. A few times a month is all I can manage.
Some parents are wonderful photographers. They have kickass cameras and they are amazing at capturing the moment. Two moms I know, Heidi and Catherine, were such a amazing amateur photographers that they are now professional photographers. My friend Beth is a fantastic amateur photographer, and some of my favorite beach pictures have been taken by her, when I had no idea I was being photographed. In the below picture I was pregnant with my daughter while my 3 year old son had fallen asleep trapping me in a beach chair for two hours. This photo is incredibly meaningful to me.
My phone is my camera. I try very hard not to have my phone with me at all times, but particularly when I'm spending time with my children. (This HAS NOTHING to do with the fact that two previous phones were destroyed due to Little D drooling on them and my insurance was cancelled. Nothing whatsoever.) My phone, with it's bells, whistles, texts and connection to Upworthy is too irresistible of a distraction. This is why I miss calls all the time and I'm even worse at checking my voicemails. So my phone is never close enough to capture much of anything in a timely fashion.
I used to really try to scramble for my phone and snap up something cute the kids were doing. I would rush around for my phone, zip back to my kids and yell "Okay, hold that pose! Put your arm around her again! Smooch her head like you were before!" And then sh*t got weird like those pictures of naked babies arranged in flower pots or rugs...cute...but staged.
It was around then that I noticed that I am not someone who is able to capture the moment and still be present to what is happening. When I'm stopping to document something happening with my kids, I am not as good at remembering it. My memory seems to give up, kick back and eat a bag of Cheetos, it would seem, replacing my memory of that moment (and its accompanying emotions) with whatever picture came up on my phone.
I figured out that I was forsaking actual memories for documentation. And it's not that I take NO pictures of my children, because I certainly do. It's just that I take LESS pictures of my children these days because, ironically, I seem to bear better witness to their photo-finish-worthy hijinx or precious moments when I don't remove myself from the situation and get behind the camera. Strange, but true. My sister Chrissy doesn't post too many pictures either...but when she does they are usually awesome so everybody generally pays attention, wildly slapping the "Like" button like a bunch of sugar-crazed children at Yestercades.
When a woman from my writers' group, Barbara, wrote an exceptional piece about this topic a few months ago, ( I wish you would share it on FB!) I found myself nodding along and fighting the urge to yell "Amen!" She wrote that if you're taking TOO many photographs or videos from OUTSIDE the moment, there's really no way for you to be inside the moment, really experiencing it. It's because of this that I often offer to take over the camera when I'm at a friend's child's birthday party. The mom gets to experience the celebration for her child and be IN THE PICTURES rather than behind the camera and out of the action like we all usually are.
It would be ideal if my husband was a whiz with a camera or loved to take pictures but he is much, much worse than I am about taking pictures. When Big A went off the kindergarten this past Fall, my husband shocked the hell out of me (and probably himself) by capturing this completely candid photo where both my son and I were unaware that we were being photographed. I was walking Big A to the bus stop for the first time. While I'm moved, touched and inspired by the fact that this photograph exists, I'm glad to know that I didn't have to drop my son's hand and remove myself from our walk to take a picture, hence ruining the moment.
Since I make a conscious effort not to take too many pictures, when friends or family members capture something beautiful on film, it is all the more poignant to me. Because a gifted photographer I am not. When I remark "Say Cheese!" rather than whipping out a camera, I'm more likely to be grabbing a box of crackers and calling everyone in for a snack.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Savor this
Today a new mom asked me for some advice. As usual, I began to sweat profusely and grimace as I do when anyone asks me for parenting advice. Like most moms, I am doing the best I can and yet I don't feel fit to advise a newt on parenting. I look around and always notice that everyone seems to parent better/more calmly/more happily than I do and I also notice their offspring are more well-behaved/more accomplished/ better at the cello than my own. But this mom is in her mid-twenties, full of energy and not used to taking no for an answer. She pressed me for some parenting advice, not sweetening the deal at all by referring to me as "a seasoned mom". Thank you, young whippersnapper. So before she shooed me off to the local HoJos to get the Early Bird Special, I cobbled together 4 pieces of parenting advice I felt comfortable sharing based on my own trials and errors.
Forgive yourself.
I am not going to tell you to "SAVOR EVERY MOMENT". I'm not going to tell you that because I believe that most moms are already doing that. The highlight of my day is watching my 2 year old run to her big brother for a bear hug and a smooch every day when he gets off the bus. I know you are enjoying these moments also at your house. Of course you are. What are you, made of ice?
You don't need me to tell you to savor those moments. What I want to tell you is that you should forgive yourself for BLOWING A GASKET during the less adorable moments. Like when they throw a can of neon yellow slime into a load of white laundry that includes your favorite cardigan, dump chocolate milk on the floor for sport and throw a tantrum because you won't let them stay up until 10 pm to watch a re-run of Wonder Woman. All of which happened this past year in my house.
Forgive yourself for yelling, speaking harshly, shoving them into their rooms or designated time-out spots. You are human. You're entitled to hissy fits when you've asked your son TEN TIMES to put on his karate uniform and he's refused to do it and now his ride is here and he's wearing just a shirt and no shoes. You will not always make the right decision as a parent. You will fail. Forgive yourself for not being perfect because you are doing the best you can.
Forgive Your Children
Are you children the picture of perfect manners? Do you they always eat their greens, never whine, say hello to their aunts and uncles by name and do their homework without being told? Are they fair to others and never perseverate on the gumball they wanted from Toys R Us when you have just bought them a new stuffed Angry Bird? If this is the case, please leave this blog and NEVER RETURN!
As a former girly girl, I thought that my daughter would love to have tea parties and play dolls with me. She doesn't. She wants to shoot hoops and collect worms. My husband thought our son would love surfing as much as he does but he has somehow sired a son that loves water but not getting his face wet. Forgive your children for not being miniature versions of yourself. Let them be whoever it is that they are going to be. Forgive your children for sometimes embarrassing you in front of grocery clerks and entire birthday parties because, quite simply, they are children. Forgive them for not being perfect and sometimes sneaking a box of orange tic-tacs under their pillow that they got from Grandma when you specifically said no candy after 6 p.m.
Please don't expect these miraculous little creatures to be perfect. You are setting them up for failure. Expect them to be remarkable and they will always succeed! For example, it was remarkable that my two year old managed to lock everyone out of the bathroom today, including herself, while the plugged faucet was still running.
But Don't Be Your Child's Friend
I promise you that if you are very lucky there will come a time in your early twenties when you'll take in a movie with your mom and discuss politics with your dad and you'll realize that the pendulum has swung and your parents are less your care-takers and more your equals...even your friends. But if you're the parents to small children or teens that time is not now. Yes, that means being the bad guy. The one that makes them eat the broccoli, says no to the second ice pop, enforces the bedtime and teeth brushing and metes out the punishment when he karate chops his sister because she accidentally turned off Adventuretime. It means sitting down sometimes and calling your children out on their bad behavior so that they can learn to be happy and productive.
With great responsibility comes great power. Your children may not like some of your rules, particularly limits on candy, screen time and lights out but they sure as hell will respect you for it. It's tempting to think of your kids as your "little buddies" but they're not. They're a precious gift you've been entrusted to raise and teach until they can make it on their own in this world. Don't leave them ill-equipped to navigate this world by indulging in their every whim, letting them do whatever they want and, in short, not doing the hard work you signed on for when you became a parent. Wonderful teachers, Coach So-And-So, Sensei Whomever and their CCD leader may be great role models and part of a loving support network, but YOU ARE THE PARENT. One kid I know responds to any time-out his mom gives him by storming "You're not my friend anymore!!" She never was, kid. Children have plenty of friends, what they need is a parent.
Spend Time With Your Kids.
This is the fun part. Not counting church, not counting when you're on the sidelines of the soccer game or swim match, not counting when you have a gaggle of your child's friends and moms over, although that's fun. Spend time with your kids. Just you and your partner and your kids. Go to the park. Have a picnic. Pop corn and watch movies they pick. Swim with them. Ride bikes. Draw with them. Play board games with them. Let them help you make meatballs and cookies even though you will have to absolutely vacuum your floor and ceiling right after. Make your kids feel that they are your priority. And I hate to break this to you but the clock is ticking. They're not always going to think you're a rock star. Soon your child will be too embarrassed to hold your hand in public and your daughter will think you're the enemy for not letting her wear make-up. As hard as this time period can be (the time period of having small children) it will also be the best years of your life. Never have you been so loved before and never will you be this loved again. Don't squander it.
So in short, (dare I say it?) Savor. Every. Moment.
Forgive yourself.
I am not going to tell you to "SAVOR EVERY MOMENT". I'm not going to tell you that because I believe that most moms are already doing that. The highlight of my day is watching my 2 year old run to her big brother for a bear hug and a smooch every day when he gets off the bus. I know you are enjoying these moments also at your house. Of course you are. What are you, made of ice?
You don't need me to tell you to savor those moments. What I want to tell you is that you should forgive yourself for BLOWING A GASKET during the less adorable moments. Like when they throw a can of neon yellow slime into a load of white laundry that includes your favorite cardigan, dump chocolate milk on the floor for sport and throw a tantrum because you won't let them stay up until 10 pm to watch a re-run of Wonder Woman. All of which happened this past year in my house.
Forgive yourself for yelling, speaking harshly, shoving them into their rooms or designated time-out spots. You are human. You're entitled to hissy fits when you've asked your son TEN TIMES to put on his karate uniform and he's refused to do it and now his ride is here and he's wearing just a shirt and no shoes. You will not always make the right decision as a parent. You will fail. Forgive yourself for not being perfect because you are doing the best you can.
Forgive Your Children
Are you children the picture of perfect manners? Do you they always eat their greens, never whine, say hello to their aunts and uncles by name and do their homework without being told? Are they fair to others and never perseverate on the gumball they wanted from Toys R Us when you have just bought them a new stuffed Angry Bird? If this is the case, please leave this blog and NEVER RETURN!
As a former girly girl, I thought that my daughter would love to have tea parties and play dolls with me. She doesn't. She wants to shoot hoops and collect worms. My husband thought our son would love surfing as much as he does but he has somehow sired a son that loves water but not getting his face wet. Forgive your children for not being miniature versions of yourself. Let them be whoever it is that they are going to be. Forgive your children for sometimes embarrassing you in front of grocery clerks and entire birthday parties because, quite simply, they are children. Forgive them for not being perfect and sometimes sneaking a box of orange tic-tacs under their pillow that they got from Grandma when you specifically said no candy after 6 p.m.
Please don't expect these miraculous little creatures to be perfect. You are setting them up for failure. Expect them to be remarkable and they will always succeed! For example, it was remarkable that my two year old managed to lock everyone out of the bathroom today, including herself, while the plugged faucet was still running.
But Don't Be Your Child's Friend
I promise you that if you are very lucky there will come a time in your early twenties when you'll take in a movie with your mom and discuss politics with your dad and you'll realize that the pendulum has swung and your parents are less your care-takers and more your equals...even your friends. But if you're the parents to small children or teens that time is not now. Yes, that means being the bad guy. The one that makes them eat the broccoli, says no to the second ice pop, enforces the bedtime and teeth brushing and metes out the punishment when he karate chops his sister because she accidentally turned off Adventuretime. It means sitting down sometimes and calling your children out on their bad behavior so that they can learn to be happy and productive.
With great responsibility comes great power. Your children may not like some of your rules, particularly limits on candy, screen time and lights out but they sure as hell will respect you for it. It's tempting to think of your kids as your "little buddies" but they're not. They're a precious gift you've been entrusted to raise and teach until they can make it on their own in this world. Don't leave them ill-equipped to navigate this world by indulging in their every whim, letting them do whatever they want and, in short, not doing the hard work you signed on for when you became a parent. Wonderful teachers, Coach So-And-So, Sensei Whomever and their CCD leader may be great role models and part of a loving support network, but YOU ARE THE PARENT. One kid I know responds to any time-out his mom gives him by storming "You're not my friend anymore!!" She never was, kid. Children have plenty of friends, what they need is a parent.
Spend Time With Your Kids.
This is the fun part. Not counting church, not counting when you're on the sidelines of the soccer game or swim match, not counting when you have a gaggle of your child's friends and moms over, although that's fun. Spend time with your kids. Just you and your partner and your kids. Go to the park. Have a picnic. Pop corn and watch movies they pick. Swim with them. Ride bikes. Draw with them. Play board games with them. Let them help you make meatballs and cookies even though you will have to absolutely vacuum your floor and ceiling right after. Make your kids feel that they are your priority. And I hate to break this to you but the clock is ticking. They're not always going to think you're a rock star. Soon your child will be too embarrassed to hold your hand in public and your daughter will think you're the enemy for not letting her wear make-up. As hard as this time period can be (the time period of having small children) it will also be the best years of your life. Never have you been so loved before and never will you be this loved again. Don't squander it.
So in short, (dare I say it?) Savor. Every. Moment.
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
Nothing to fear but fear itself
I am not sending my son to Action Camp.
Our town has an Action Camp each summer for 5 weeks. I hear wonderful things about it. Apparently it is not only safe and nearby but all the campers have a ball. It's only 3 hours a day too. The perfect amount of time to get some work done while your kids are off having fun.
But I am not sending my son to Action Camp.
"Aren't you afraid that Big A will lose touch with all the good friends he's made this year?" another Mom asked me. (Her town has a similar camp and she and her kids love it.)
Until this moment no, no I was not. But now I am. Now I am afraid he will lose all his friends and become a social pariah. Thank you for that.
"Aren't you afraid that when you get sick of having him around this summer there will be no respite, NOWHERE to drop him?" she asked.
Yes. I AM in fact afraid of what will happen when I run out of ideas, we're hot, grouchy and the kids are having a steel cage match to see who can whine more. I will have no break. I now possess this fear as well.
"And how about the fun?" she persists. "Aren't you afraid he's going to miss out on a great time?"
I have now broken out in hives.
Note that all three of the questions I was asked began with "Aren't you afraid?"
Yes! Yes...I'm afraid he'll miss out on the fun. I have a vision of Big A, on the top of the monkey bars in a nearby park as he gazes over at the happy campers. I picture him shrieking miserably "WHY? WHY DIDN'T YOU SEND ME TO ACTION CAMP?! DAMN YOU, MOMMY! DAMN YOU! OH THE HUMANITY OF IT ALL!"
But all of this fear is not enough for me to send Big A to Action Camp. It's not because of the money. It's not because I want him to myself all summer. It's not even because 1 week out of the 5 he'll be at Vacation Bible School or because we belong to a beach club, even though these are all good reasons.
I'm not sending Big A to Action Camp because, quite simply, he doesn't want to go.
His summer plans, as he's explained them to me, include not going to school, camping in the backyard with his friends, and a trip to Sesame Place where he can eat "a blue cupcake". He also wants to go the beach, jump off the diving board "a zillion times" and eat "a blue ice pop". While his plans may include a high number of of unnaturally blue things, they don't include Action Camp.
When I mentioned a lot of his friends were going he sort of shrugged and asked if they could come over after they were done with camp. Sounds reasonable. I think my introvert son realizes that he's had to keep it together all year in the super-stimulated world of kindergarten and he's ready to chill out this summer by having nowhere in particular to be.
He doesn't seem to care that he's one of the few kids not going to Action Camp. And at age (almost) 6, I may not be able let him decide what time to go to bed, but he definitely can decide this. If I worked outside of the home, that might be a different story. He might have to go to Action Camp, whether he wanted to or not, because it's a cost-effective childcare solution.
But to be brutally honest, I was worried for a while about going against the grain and having my son not attend. Fear is a great motivator. Would he be missing oodles of fun? Would he indeed lose touch with his new friends? Everyone else seems to be going and having a blast...what's wrong with my kid that he doesn't want to? Fear is so powerful it almost made me override my son's wishes and sign him up for something he specifically doesn't want to do. And that's when I realized, not just with this small situation but with many future situations that I don't want to be swayed, colored or RUN by fear.
And so it is written. No action camp for the Big A this year. There's always next year.
Our town has an Action Camp each summer for 5 weeks. I hear wonderful things about it. Apparently it is not only safe and nearby but all the campers have a ball. It's only 3 hours a day too. The perfect amount of time to get some work done while your kids are off having fun.
But I am not sending my son to Action Camp.
"Aren't you afraid that Big A will lose touch with all the good friends he's made this year?" another Mom asked me. (Her town has a similar camp and she and her kids love it.)
Until this moment no, no I was not. But now I am. Now I am afraid he will lose all his friends and become a social pariah. Thank you for that.
"Aren't you afraid that when you get sick of having him around this summer there will be no respite, NOWHERE to drop him?" she asked.
Yes. I AM in fact afraid of what will happen when I run out of ideas, we're hot, grouchy and the kids are having a steel cage match to see who can whine more. I will have no break. I now possess this fear as well.
"And how about the fun?" she persists. "Aren't you afraid he's going to miss out on a great time?"
I have now broken out in hives.
Note that all three of the questions I was asked began with "Aren't you afraid?"
Yes! Yes...I'm afraid he'll miss out on the fun. I have a vision of Big A, on the top of the monkey bars in a nearby park as he gazes over at the happy campers. I picture him shrieking miserably "WHY? WHY DIDN'T YOU SEND ME TO ACTION CAMP?! DAMN YOU, MOMMY! DAMN YOU! OH THE HUMANITY OF IT ALL!"
But all of this fear is not enough for me to send Big A to Action Camp. It's not because of the money. It's not because I want him to myself all summer. It's not even because 1 week out of the 5 he'll be at Vacation Bible School or because we belong to a beach club, even though these are all good reasons.
I'm not sending Big A to Action Camp because, quite simply, he doesn't want to go.
His summer plans, as he's explained them to me, include not going to school, camping in the backyard with his friends, and a trip to Sesame Place where he can eat "a blue cupcake". He also wants to go the beach, jump off the diving board "a zillion times" and eat "a blue ice pop". While his plans may include a high number of of unnaturally blue things, they don't include Action Camp.
When I mentioned a lot of his friends were going he sort of shrugged and asked if they could come over after they were done with camp. Sounds reasonable. I think my introvert son realizes that he's had to keep it together all year in the super-stimulated world of kindergarten and he's ready to chill out this summer by having nowhere in particular to be.
He doesn't seem to care that he's one of the few kids not going to Action Camp. And at age (almost) 6, I may not be able let him decide what time to go to bed, but he definitely can decide this. If I worked outside of the home, that might be a different story. He might have to go to Action Camp, whether he wanted to or not, because it's a cost-effective childcare solution.
But to be brutally honest, I was worried for a while about going against the grain and having my son not attend. Fear is a great motivator. Would he be missing oodles of fun? Would he indeed lose touch with his new friends? Everyone else seems to be going and having a blast...what's wrong with my kid that he doesn't want to? Fear is so powerful it almost made me override my son's wishes and sign him up for something he specifically doesn't want to do. And that's when I realized, not just with this small situation but with many future situations that I don't want to be swayed, colored or RUN by fear.
And so it is written. No action camp for the Big A this year. There's always next year.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
The MILF Swimsuit Edition
This past Memorial Day weekend, (except for the tiny little moms who look more like their children's nannies than their mothers) I am the only mommy at the beach club not wearing a cover-up. How do those stick-like moms do it? Do they not eat ice cream? Is it genes? I admire their commitment, whether it's to skipping pasta and dessert or running 5 miles each morning. Work it, girls! You earned it! (Unless it's hereditary...in that case, sigh, some girls have all the luck. Carry on)
I don't want to not be wearing a cover-up. But my 5 year old wants to go in the pool, and even though he's a good swimmer he rightfully asserts it's more fun to go in the pool with mommy. And I've yet to find a cover-up that's underwater-savvy.
And I love being in water. Pools, inside or out. Any ocean. Most lakes and rivers. The tub. I like playing Marco Polo and doing chicken fights. But this winter we had A LOT of snow. And I baked a lot of cookies, breads, cakes and casseroles. And there was a lot of vodka, books and board games. And when the vodka ran out there was always wine. I wasn't able to run throughout the cold months and it was only in late April that I started running again (translation: labored jogging) on a regular basis. The calories accumulated more than the snow.
So, to put it very forgivingly my nearly 5 foot 8 frame is carrying an extra 10-15 pounds. This unwanted extra weight is getting lost slowly but healthfully. When you cease eating 5 banana chocolate chip muffins a day the weight seems to come off pretty easy, although I can't imagine why. No one seems to care about my weight gain. Not my friends or my kids or my husband or my mom. That is, no one except me.
I care deeply about my extra weight when I'm forced to parade into the pool at the beach club in a swim suit. And I realize now how awful it feels to be insecure about your weight because (despite my abundant insecurities) I generally have always felt good about my body. ( I think this stems from my father always telling me, without irony, that I was smart and beautiful when I was going through an awkward stage at 13 even though the potential permanence of my purple glasses, zits and braces must have scared the crap out of him.)
See, I've never had much hatred for my hips and curves. The women whose figures I always idolized and thought were beautiful (whether in my family or on tv) were more voluptuous than skinny. Especially since having two children I feel pretty amazed at what my superhero of a body is capable of. (We don't know what its capable of! Except for eating an entire lasagna during a snow storm. That much is clear.) So this disgust at my body is something new and it makes me feel for women who struggle with body issues on a daily basis. Throughout their whole life. Because how bad must it feel to constantly want to escape from your own body and know that you can't?
Since my husband was off on baby pool duty with our 2 year old and my be-goggled, sun-blocked 5 year old practically had ants in his pants to get into the pool, I steeled myself to molt my cover-up. What was the alternative? Giving up fun pool time with The Big A because I felt like an Orca? Sitting on the sidelines and watching him play alone when I desperately wanted to be in there with him? Warping his young mind by saying "Mommy can't play with you in the pool because Mommy feels fat today." Less so than being an unfortunate model of low self-esteem I feared the disappointed look that would flash across his face as he would surely doubt my intelligence while probably asserting "Mommy that's dumb."
So I did it. I stripped off the cover-up, tugged my bright pink one piece down to cover an escaped butt cheek, adjusted my straps and walked the length of the pool over to the steps with as much panache as I could muster. No one even seemed to notice me, let enough laugh or leer. Except that there was one dad sitting on the side of the pool with his wife and toddler. He was wearing a visor and full-on staring at me. I knew the water would be freezing (hence why only a handful of kids were in, and no parents) but I slipped into the pool to The Big A's delight and began swimming after him.
I was surprised when Visor Dad raised his visor at me.
"I have to say something" he said.
"Okay." I said cautiously.
"I have never seen someone enter a 50 degree pool so...elegantly. You just walked right in, like it was nothing. No squealing. You're tough," he said admiringly.
"It's true!" affirmed his wife. "You couldn't get us in there!"
I was touched by this unexpected compliment. I was both glad to be in the pool playing with my son and even a little ashamed I had felt so uncomfortable with my body to begin with. I wondered, in a flash, if my extra padding even made the freezing water more tolerable.
I smiled at them. The cold never bothered me anyway.
I don't want to not be wearing a cover-up. But my 5 year old wants to go in the pool, and even though he's a good swimmer he rightfully asserts it's more fun to go in the pool with mommy. And I've yet to find a cover-up that's underwater-savvy.
And I love being in water. Pools, inside or out. Any ocean. Most lakes and rivers. The tub. I like playing Marco Polo and doing chicken fights. But this winter we had A LOT of snow. And I baked a lot of cookies, breads, cakes and casseroles. And there was a lot of vodka, books and board games. And when the vodka ran out there was always wine. I wasn't able to run throughout the cold months and it was only in late April that I started running again (translation: labored jogging) on a regular basis. The calories accumulated more than the snow.
So, to put it very forgivingly my nearly 5 foot 8 frame is carrying an extra 10-15 pounds. This unwanted extra weight is getting lost slowly but healthfully. When you cease eating 5 banana chocolate chip muffins a day the weight seems to come off pretty easy, although I can't imagine why. No one seems to care about my weight gain. Not my friends or my kids or my husband or my mom. That is, no one except me.
I care deeply about my extra weight when I'm forced to parade into the pool at the beach club in a swim suit. And I realize now how awful it feels to be insecure about your weight because (despite my abundant insecurities) I generally have always felt good about my body. ( I think this stems from my father always telling me, without irony, that I was smart and beautiful when I was going through an awkward stage at 13 even though the potential permanence of my purple glasses, zits and braces must have scared the crap out of him.)
See, I've never had much hatred for my hips and curves. The women whose figures I always idolized and thought were beautiful (whether in my family or on tv) were more voluptuous than skinny. Especially since having two children I feel pretty amazed at what my superhero of a body is capable of. (We don't know what its capable of! Except for eating an entire lasagna during a snow storm. That much is clear.) So this disgust at my body is something new and it makes me feel for women who struggle with body issues on a daily basis. Throughout their whole life. Because how bad must it feel to constantly want to escape from your own body and know that you can't?
Since my husband was off on baby pool duty with our 2 year old and my be-goggled, sun-blocked 5 year old practically had ants in his pants to get into the pool, I steeled myself to molt my cover-up. What was the alternative? Giving up fun pool time with The Big A because I felt like an Orca? Sitting on the sidelines and watching him play alone when I desperately wanted to be in there with him? Warping his young mind by saying "Mommy can't play with you in the pool because Mommy feels fat today." Less so than being an unfortunate model of low self-esteem I feared the disappointed look that would flash across his face as he would surely doubt my intelligence while probably asserting "Mommy that's dumb."
So I did it. I stripped off the cover-up, tugged my bright pink one piece down to cover an escaped butt cheek, adjusted my straps and walked the length of the pool over to the steps with as much panache as I could muster. No one even seemed to notice me, let enough laugh or leer. Except that there was one dad sitting on the side of the pool with his wife and toddler. He was wearing a visor and full-on staring at me. I knew the water would be freezing (hence why only a handful of kids were in, and no parents) but I slipped into the pool to The Big A's delight and began swimming after him.
I was surprised when Visor Dad raised his visor at me.
"I have to say something" he said.
"Okay." I said cautiously.
"I have never seen someone enter a 50 degree pool so...elegantly. You just walked right in, like it was nothing. No squealing. You're tough," he said admiringly.
"It's true!" affirmed his wife. "You couldn't get us in there!"
I was touched by this unexpected compliment. I was both glad to be in the pool playing with my son and even a little ashamed I had felt so uncomfortable with my body to begin with. I wondered, in a flash, if my extra padding even made the freezing water more tolerable.
I smiled at them. The cold never bothered me anyway.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
French Fries and Forgiveness
"Watch closely" said my husband, The Big G, as hit bit into a cheeseburger and stared at our 5 year old son, The Big A. "This is the only time that you will ever see your father eating fast food."
We were at Wendy's somewhere in northern Pennsylvania driving back from Niagara Falls this past weekend. Though it's strange, but true, I have known my husband 15 years and this was the first time I'd ever seen him eat fast food.
"Daddy," said The Big A, "can you please relax? Mommy says everything in mon-er-AY-shun"
"Yes!" I chorused as I dipped a fry in ketchup. "Everything in moderation! Now, are you gonna eat those fries?" I asked of my 2 year old, Little D. I took her silence for consent (she was busy with her straw wrapper) and went for it. A few minutes later she frowned at her empty container "Where my fry go?" she wondered. I unashamedly pointed to Big G as he polished off his burger.
"Honestly?" Big G mused "This was actually pretty good."
The menu on the 8 hour ride home was vastly different from the cuisine served on the 8 hour drive to our destination. For the ride up there I had packed a homemade tofu brown rice salad, raw carrots, strawberries, grapes, grilled chicken and a bunch of bananas along with some dark chocolate brownies. Having exhausted our rations on the trip up we knew we'd have to stop somewhere on the trip back. I just never thought it would be here.
My husband is VERY AGAINST fast food. It's gross. It's fattening. It's full of chemicals. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I don't even need to make a case against fast food because it's too easy a target. There nothing I can write here that we don't all already know. But Big G is a man who drinks a scary concoction of something called Mighty Greens most mornings which bubbles up like thick green sludge. I drink it occasionally and I can assure you it tastes just as it looks -- like grass and soil mashed up in a blender.
Big G gets VERY UPSET when any of the grandparents or that super-indulgent Aunt V treats the kids to a Happy Meal. I have too many other things to get upset about besides my children being taken out for the occasional junk food, especially when it's not by me. They know it's a treat and their dad reminds them of how awful fast food is on a regular basis with flow charts drawing a parallel between quarter pounders and global warming.
So it was kind of surprising when we stopped at a Wendy's for a bathroom break, and my children, having been in the car for ages and being extremely hungry, looked around the brightly lit, welcoming space of the fast food place and asked "Can we please eat here?" and my husband said "Yes!" No one was more surprised than me. I almost ordered a Frosty Dairy Dessert on the spot to commemorate the monumental occasion.
Big A's eyes became more saucer-like than usual.
"Daddy just said we can eat fast food! I want a hamburger, a hot dog, fries, a chocolate milk and chicken nuggets!" he said excitedly, (obviously having no idea how this whole thing goes).
"They don't have hot dogs here," I corrected him. "And you can have a hamburger OR a chicken nuggets....not both."
And I had a rare, surprising moment of peace, happiness and clarity.
I know this may sound bizarre, considering the result was eating fast food, but I was really happy that Big G was stepping out of his comfort zone. He wasn't judging me or the kids but most importantly he wasn't judging himself. When you have clung onto a tightly-held assumption for (at least) 15 years, it can be very hard to let go. ( Perhaps, much like a comet, 15 more years will pass until I see him eating fast food again.)
Because it would seem in that moment Big G was willing to forgive himself for not making the perfect choice as a parent.
But he didn't torture himself that he was somehow lacking because he was letting his children eat grease and fat. He didn't suddenly announce "Now you can eat Wendy's once a week, kids!" and nor did he moan guiltily throughout the meal about what a bad parent he was for allowing such nutritional blasphemy to occur. We had a jovial meal that did not need to be eaten on a bench outside a rest stop.
We got back into the car until a half hour later when both of my children, their bodies not accustomed to this kind of food, had the runs.
Big G felt really bad about that and quite regretful about the french fry frenzy he had orchestrated and condoned but I hope it didn't detract from his ability to be spontaneous and forgive himself for making the wrong choice.
I have a lot of trouble forgiving myself when I make a misstep with the kids. I was rushing Big A out the house so quickly yesterday (he moving at the speed of a tortoise dripping in molasses) that I finally gave up, grabbed his arm and pulled him along with me.
"Mommy, that hurts!" he exclaimed.
I immediately felt awful, got out the boxing gloves and began going Floyd Mayweather all over myself. I shouldn't have been rushing. I should have budgeted more time. I should have been more patient. Big A is only five. I shouldn't have grabbed his arm. I should control my frustration more. After a few minutes, I was convinced that I was unfit to parent even a hermit crab.
I don't want to do this to myself anymore.
If a friend shared that story with me, putting herself in my place, I would have assured her that she is a wonderful mom. That she asked Big A FIVE TIMES to put on his shoes and walk into the garage before she blew her stack. That she's human and we all make mistakes.
So I'm trying to forgive myself for not being the perfect mom and not always making the right choices. And it's nice to see when my partner can do that also.
I believe a lot of the moms of our generation beat themselves up. For not being present enough. For being too present. For not being firm enough. For being too firm. I bought the organic milk, but not the eggs. I work too hard and don't spend enough time with my kids. I don't work hard enough and I'm setting a bad example for my daughters. I yelled too loud. I lost my temper too soon. I was just sick of going to the park and I kept them inside on a sunny day watching Finding Nemo. The self-doubt runs as rampant as a toddler with a kazoo. Please take your gloves off. Mine are taped on with duct tape but I am trying desperately hard to stop boxing myself into a nosebleed for not being perfect.
So if you're reading this blog and you occasionally give your children fast food (or do anything else that's not optimal parenting), I think you are a wonderful mother or father. Don't feel guilty. I'm sure you encourage them to eat their greens the rest of time.
We were at Wendy's somewhere in northern Pennsylvania driving back from Niagara Falls this past weekend. Though it's strange, but true, I have known my husband 15 years and this was the first time I'd ever seen him eat fast food.
"Daddy," said The Big A, "can you please relax? Mommy says everything in mon-er-AY-shun"
"Yes!" I chorused as I dipped a fry in ketchup. "Everything in moderation! Now, are you gonna eat those fries?" I asked of my 2 year old, Little D. I took her silence for consent (she was busy with her straw wrapper) and went for it. A few minutes later she frowned at her empty container "Where my fry go?" she wondered. I unashamedly pointed to Big G as he polished off his burger.
"Honestly?" Big G mused "This was actually pretty good."
The menu on the 8 hour ride home was vastly different from the cuisine served on the 8 hour drive to our destination. For the ride up there I had packed a homemade tofu brown rice salad, raw carrots, strawberries, grapes, grilled chicken and a bunch of bananas along with some dark chocolate brownies. Having exhausted our rations on the trip up we knew we'd have to stop somewhere on the trip back. I just never thought it would be here.
My husband is VERY AGAINST fast food. It's gross. It's fattening. It's full of chemicals. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I don't even need to make a case against fast food because it's too easy a target. There nothing I can write here that we don't all already know. But Big G is a man who drinks a scary concoction of something called Mighty Greens most mornings which bubbles up like thick green sludge. I drink it occasionally and I can assure you it tastes just as it looks -- like grass and soil mashed up in a blender.
Big G gets VERY UPSET when any of the grandparents or that super-indulgent Aunt V treats the kids to a Happy Meal. I have too many other things to get upset about besides my children being taken out for the occasional junk food, especially when it's not by me. They know it's a treat and their dad reminds them of how awful fast food is on a regular basis with flow charts drawing a parallel between quarter pounders and global warming.
So it was kind of surprising when we stopped at a Wendy's for a bathroom break, and my children, having been in the car for ages and being extremely hungry, looked around the brightly lit, welcoming space of the fast food place and asked "Can we please eat here?" and my husband said "Yes!" No one was more surprised than me. I almost ordered a Frosty Dairy Dessert on the spot to commemorate the monumental occasion.
Big A's eyes became more saucer-like than usual.
"Daddy just said we can eat fast food! I want a hamburger, a hot dog, fries, a chocolate milk and chicken nuggets!" he said excitedly, (obviously having no idea how this whole thing goes).
"They don't have hot dogs here," I corrected him. "And you can have a hamburger OR a chicken nuggets....not both."
And I had a rare, surprising moment of peace, happiness and clarity.
I know this may sound bizarre, considering the result was eating fast food, but I was really happy that Big G was stepping out of his comfort zone. He wasn't judging me or the kids but most importantly he wasn't judging himself. When you have clung onto a tightly-held assumption for (at least) 15 years, it can be very hard to let go. ( Perhaps, much like a comet, 15 more years will pass until I see him eating fast food again.)
Because it would seem in that moment Big G was willing to forgive himself for not making the perfect choice as a parent.
But he didn't torture himself that he was somehow lacking because he was letting his children eat grease and fat. He didn't suddenly announce "Now you can eat Wendy's once a week, kids!" and nor did he moan guiltily throughout the meal about what a bad parent he was for allowing such nutritional blasphemy to occur. We had a jovial meal that did not need to be eaten on a bench outside a rest stop.
We got back into the car until a half hour later when both of my children, their bodies not accustomed to this kind of food, had the runs.
Big G felt really bad about that and quite regretful about the french fry frenzy he had orchestrated and condoned but I hope it didn't detract from his ability to be spontaneous and forgive himself for making the wrong choice.
I have a lot of trouble forgiving myself when I make a misstep with the kids. I was rushing Big A out the house so quickly yesterday (he moving at the speed of a tortoise dripping in molasses) that I finally gave up, grabbed his arm and pulled him along with me.
"Mommy, that hurts!" he exclaimed.
I immediately felt awful, got out the boxing gloves and began going Floyd Mayweather all over myself. I shouldn't have been rushing. I should have budgeted more time. I should have been more patient. Big A is only five. I shouldn't have grabbed his arm. I should control my frustration more. After a few minutes, I was convinced that I was unfit to parent even a hermit crab.
I don't want to do this to myself anymore.
If a friend shared that story with me, putting herself in my place, I would have assured her that she is a wonderful mom. That she asked Big A FIVE TIMES to put on his shoes and walk into the garage before she blew her stack. That she's human and we all make mistakes.
So I'm trying to forgive myself for not being the perfect mom and not always making the right choices. And it's nice to see when my partner can do that also.
I believe a lot of the moms of our generation beat themselves up. For not being present enough. For being too present. For not being firm enough. For being too firm. I bought the organic milk, but not the eggs. I work too hard and don't spend enough time with my kids. I don't work hard enough and I'm setting a bad example for my daughters. I yelled too loud. I lost my temper too soon. I was just sick of going to the park and I kept them inside on a sunny day watching Finding Nemo. The self-doubt runs as rampant as a toddler with a kazoo. Please take your gloves off. Mine are taped on with duct tape but I am trying desperately hard to stop boxing myself into a nosebleed for not being perfect.
So if you're reading this blog and you occasionally give your children fast food (or do anything else that's not optimal parenting), I think you are a wonderful mother or father. Don't feel guilty. I'm sure you encourage them to eat their greens the rest of time.
Night Out
On Friday night, I said a quick “Hail Mary”, gulped down a
glass of wine and boldly went off to a fancy schmancy Italian restaurant with both
my children (Little D, age 2 and Big A, age 5) to celebrate my parents’ 45th
wedding anniversary. I’m not a big fan
of taking my young children to a restaurant at night. ( Their presence seems to
disturb the other diners from enjoying their meals and by other diners I mean
me.) But my folks insisted they wanted all four of their grandchildren present
at this dinner so I steeled myself for an evening of eating cold food while I
tried in vain to stop my overactive children from knocking over wine glasses and
wanting to make multiple dashes to the bathroom.
See, the thing is, I know that Little D would be the epitome of a quiet, perfect child, if only I would hypnotize her with a handheld device. But you know I just can’t. My sister and I decreed that our four collective children would get 15 minutes as soon as we arrived to look at pictures (Little D) play Minecraft (Big A) and do whatever (my 9 year old nephew and 7 year old niece) on phones or iPad touches while we all were getting settled and ordering meals. After that, they (and we) were on our own.
I’m not kidding… a huge part of me wanted to just yell “Just let them play! Let them play as much as they want…as long as they want! I’ll just sit here and drink my non-spilled wine, enjoy adult conversation and relish the first pasta I’ve eaten in weeks!” But then I would have missed what happened.
Because here’s what happened. The children roamed to different parts of the table to converse with all of us adults. They also had a spaghetti slurping contest but that's besides the point.
Our son launched into a stand-up comedy routine that lasted about 20 minutes. Every time he thought up another joke or story he would lightly clink his fork on his glass and announce “May I have your attention please?” The aunts and the grandparents were in hysterics. I would have missed Little D doing pull-ups on the back of her chair and snuggling into my sister’s fiancé as she smushed her cheek against his, laughing. I would have missed hearing all about my nephew’s last baseball game and I would have missed the opportunity to answer his question “What does the word racist mean?” If the children were quiet and sorted, staring slack-jawed at their hand-held devices, I never would have gotten to hear my niece’s hopes and dreams about her attire for an upcoming family wedding. “Why CAN’T I be the bride?” she asked reasonably “My communion gown would be perfect!”
See, the thing is, I know that Little D would be the epitome of a quiet, perfect child, if only I would hypnotize her with a handheld device. But you know I just can’t. My sister and I decreed that our four collective children would get 15 minutes as soon as we arrived to look at pictures (Little D) play Minecraft (Big A) and do whatever (my 9 year old nephew and 7 year old niece) on phones or iPad touches while we all were getting settled and ordering meals. After that, they (and we) were on our own.
I’m not kidding… a huge part of me wanted to just yell “Just let them play! Let them play as much as they want…as long as they want! I’ll just sit here and drink my non-spilled wine, enjoy adult conversation and relish the first pasta I’ve eaten in weeks!” But then I would have missed what happened.
Because here’s what happened. The children roamed to different parts of the table to converse with all of us adults. They also had a spaghetti slurping contest but that's besides the point.
Our son launched into a stand-up comedy routine that lasted about 20 minutes. Every time he thought up another joke or story he would lightly clink his fork on his glass and announce “May I have your attention please?” The aunts and the grandparents were in hysterics. I would have missed Little D doing pull-ups on the back of her chair and snuggling into my sister’s fiancé as she smushed her cheek against his, laughing. I would have missed hearing all about my nephew’s last baseball game and I would have missed the opportunity to answer his question “What does the word racist mean?” If the children were quiet and sorted, staring slack-jawed at their hand-held devices, I never would have gotten to hear my niece’s hopes and dreams about her attire for an upcoming family wedding. “Why CAN’T I be the bride?” she asked reasonably “My communion gown would be perfect!”
And yet, the night culminated in Big A belching so loudly I thought a
wild boar had somehow sneaked under our table. “Excuse me!” he called over to
the adjacent table of two well dressed couples in their mid-50s. That’s when my husband and I went over to
make our customary apologies.
“I’m very sorry,” I began. “I apologize for my children’s behavior. We usually don’t take them out to a restaurant this late but my parents insisted-”
“Oh no!” said the woman in pearls. “They were so well behaved!”
“Thank you for lying to our faces.” my husband nodded.
“Really,” said the man sitting with her. “We barely noticed they were there at first. And then we heard them having such great conversation with you all.”
“Really?” I asked dubiously. “You weren’t bothered?”
“Oh no!” said the other blond woman. “We all have children in their 20s and it seems like just yesterday they were toddlers.”
“Even when he burped?” my husband said suspiciously.
“He said ‘Excuse me’” the blond reassured us.
“I just loved,” said her companion “how we could see your kids’ faces. They weren’t huddled over their phones. Your baby daughter has such a gorgeous face.”
At that moment, Little D of the gorgeous face had messed up her hair so badly from climbing about various laps that she looked like a cross between a hedgehog and Albert Einstein. Big A was in the midst of telling a joke about omelettes.
“I’m very sorry,” I began. “I apologize for my children’s behavior. We usually don’t take them out to a restaurant this late but my parents insisted-”
“Oh no!” said the woman in pearls. “They were so well behaved!”
“Thank you for lying to our faces.” my husband nodded.
“Really,” said the man sitting with her. “We barely noticed they were there at first. And then we heard them having such great conversation with you all.”
“Really?” I asked dubiously. “You weren’t bothered?”
“Oh no!” said the other blond woman. “We all have children in their 20s and it seems like just yesterday they were toddlers.”
“Even when he burped?” my husband said suspiciously.
“He said ‘Excuse me’” the blond reassured us.
“I just loved,” said her companion “how we could see your kids’ faces. They weren’t huddled over their phones. Your baby daughter has such a gorgeous face.”
At that moment, Little D of the gorgeous face had messed up her hair so badly from climbing about various laps that she looked like a cross between a hedgehog and Albert Einstein. Big A was in the midst of telling a joke about omelettes.
“Omelettes?” I called over to him.
“Yes,” he yelled over “Breasts. Like on ladies. I call them omelettes”.
The foursome pealed into laughter as my husband and I slunk
back to the table in embarrassment.
But besides that mortification, it was a joy to be
interacting with all four children, cracking up at both their bon mots and their
embarrassing moments. And I’d like to
think that we were teaching them something about learning the art of
conversation and how special restaurant meals can be when you don’t check out into a
game of Angry Birds but enjoy laughter and debate with your dining companions.
These hand-held devices can be a Godsend when you need to
occupy your child for a short period of time and certainly the kids enjoy them.
Yes, it bothers me when there’s a christening at church and there’s a kid in
the front row playing on an iPod. Yes, it saddens me when I’m at the Molly
Pitcher bar, having dinner with my mom and sisters and a child is PITCHING A
FIT, complete with high pitched shrieking and kicking when Mom and Dad say it’s
time to put his electronic game away because his chicken fingers are getting cold. I was horrified at a play date last week when
Big A had access to an iPad and he burst into sobbing tears when I told him it
was time to shut it down. So once,
again, everything in moderation.
But after the joy of Friday's dinner I think I just might put on embargo on screen time when we're out to eat, even at the expense of good behavior. And next time, we're having omelettes.
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