Parent Trap

My 13 month old has discovered scratching. And she's discovered that she likes it. She particularly likes trying it out on her 3 year old sister, who has been extremely patient with her little sister. So far.

So yesterday my little cherub strolls casually over to her big sister and catches her by surprise, clawing her right across the cheek. Shen then turns to me with a wounded look and whimpers, "Mommy, she scratched me." I turn to Tate and say sternly, "No". But since that word is merely amusing to her, I proceed to go over to Shen and kiss her cheek and stroke it gently to demonstrate to Tatum how she should be with her sister. "See, Tatum? Gentle. Nice". And then Shen and I both gently stroke Tatum's cheek to show her how it feels. Shen is especially sweet in her demonstration.

Tatum grins and repeats us in her own sweet way. "Naa. Naaa". And then she reaches over and begins to stroke Shen's arm... and then proceeds to dig every fingernail into her sister's flesh once more. Shen grimaces and turns to me for help.

We try again a few more times with our demonstration. We try that useless "no" word. We try to distract her or even just separate her, but Tate just wants to scratch now. And she's nothing if not persistent. Shen looks up at me hopelessly with those big eyes of hers. "She's not listening, Mommy!" She's not. And now we both have a couple of tiny pink lines on our arms. Something must be done.

And in the midst of it my mind just fails me sometimes. I get fragments of "good advice" spinning through my brain like a tornado. Stick to your guns. Be compassionate. Set boundaries. Be clear. Be patient. Stay firm. Use positive language. Be the example. Children live what they learn. Hmmm.... and it's still not coming to me.

And then my just turned 6 year old walks in and assesses the situation in .5 seconds and grabs his sister by the hand. "No, Tatum. We need to cut your nails. They're too sharp."

Now there's an idea. Maybe I should let him raise her.

Somebody do something!

Help! I'm suffering from a severe case of inertia!

For Deborah and Joanne

Tayata Om Bhekandze Bhekandze Maha Bhekandze Radza Samungate Soha
Tayata Om Bhekandze Bhekandze Maha Bhekandze Radza Samungate Soha
Tayata Om Bhekandze Bhekandze Maha Bhekandze Radza Samungate Soha
Tayata Om Bhekandze Bhekandze Maha Bhekandze Radza Samungate Soha
Tayata Om Bhekandze Bhekandze Maha Bhekandze Radza Samungate Soha
Tayata Om Bhekandze Bhekandze Maha Bhekandze Radza Samungate Soha
Tayata Om Bhekandze Bhekandze Maha Bhekandze Radza Samungate Soha

You're so vain

I bet you think this blog is about you.

...don't you? don't you?...

Well, it's actually about me. Turns out I'm the vain one.

I don't WANT to be vain. I hate that preoccupation with designer everything and perfect hair and a face full of make-up. What a waste of time. But it was way easier to have disdain for all those dyes and fad diets before the gray hair and cellulite made it's debut. Now I find myself tempted to buy those creams and chemicals that I know don't work in the hopes that maybe they will. I've been spending time in front of the mirror with a pair of tweezers hunting down those grays. And with every extra pound I find myself wearing heels just a little bit higher to make my legs appear just a little bit longer, as they continue to get wider.

The thing is I was counting on aging gracefully. I was planning on going the route of Audrey Hepburn - every beautiful line on my face the result of smiling sweetly while working tirelessly to help children in third world countries (do I even have that right about her?). And thin, of course, because I'd be too busy changing the world to ever linger in front of the fridge. I'd conveniently forgotten about the effects of three kids and all the food I end up cleaning off their plates. And I just didn't realize how it would all sneak up on me.

And I suppose the other thing I never expected was that I'd care so much. Honestly, I'm not 18 anymore. You'd think I'd be mature enough to just live my life and get on with it already. I look fine. Give me a shower and some time to get ready, I can even look good. I've already attracted the most important things into my life, so if I needed looks to get them, then they've already served me pretty well. Time to pass the torch to the 20 year olds and let them be the pretty ones, right? But, no. If I'm going to be totally honest, I'd still like to be "hot".

And just out of principle, I won't let myself invest too much of my energy in that direction, but I still care. I'm determined to be a woman of wisdom and character. And if I have to admit that I'm vain, at least I can hold my ground and not slip into utter shallowness. Besides, what I REALLY want is to be beautiful, and I mean the mind, soul... that quality that shines through from somewhere behind the eyes. I'm tempted sometimes, but I'm not going to settle. Replacing passion and compassion with make-up and lipo is like trying to substitute crack for nirvana.

I think I'll hold out for the real thing...

Out of our heads

It's only recently that I developed an interest in the Waldorf education philosophy. For the longest time, I thought of it as something pretty "out there". And perhaps now I'm right out there with it, but it's given me an interesting perspective on things.

Waldorf education principles are based on Rudolph Steiner's spiritual and cultural movement called Anthroposophy - literally, the wisdom or knowledge of man. The philosophy is based on the view that a human being is a being of body, soul and spirit. Which is all well and good, though it sounded a bit like "blah, blah, blah" to me the first 50 or so times I heard it. It wasn't until I needed some alternative - until my five year old started biting his nails and having daily stomach aches in kindergarten - that I started to explore what it all meant.

And after a few months of fumbling through my best effort at Waldorf home schooling I'm started to get it. It's not a part of me yet, but I'm trying to make it mine. I'm trying to tune out all the well-meaning advice and unlearn so much of what I've learned about parenting. As I do, I'm getting back in touch with my body, soul and spirit. And it's alarming to discover how neglected they've been. And not just mine. Everyone's.

I overheard two women complaining the other day about how their 3 year olds "learned nothing in preschool this year". Their daughters can't even write their names. The conversation moved on to discussions about science camps and language classes for the summer. It sounded way too complicated and overwhelming for 3 and 4 year olds. And participating in these kinds of discussions was torture for me a few months ago. I was so conflicted - not wanting my kids to miss out on all these opportunities, but feeling exhausted by just the thought of all the running around and "doing". And yet, how could I not do everything possible to foster the education of my kids? Worse yet, my attempts to force my kids into all these "enrichment" classes made us all rushed and frazzled.

What sweet relief to discover that my kids could thrive without it! It's still work, mostly because I'm in the habit of being busy and productive and hurried and I have to relearn everything I'm trying to teach them. But when I'm able to just be with them, what a pleasure it is for all of us. Just to walk and pick up leaves and pine cones and spot birds. We dance and practice cartwheels and create recipes and find ways to decorate our rooms. We pretend. And together we're learning to play. We're feeding our souls. We're finding out all the things our bodies can do and how it feels to move about in the world around us. We're indulging our senses and our imaginations. We're learning how to tell stories and how to listen. And we're figuring out how to be happy and confident and comfortable in our own skin.

It's hardest for me. I still get preoccupied with progress. But my kids, they rock at this stuff and I couldn't be happier. If they get this stuff down, curiosity and passion will take care of the rest. We're going to master this childhood thing.

So now it's become very hard for me to watch so many people pushing their children to excel. Hard to watch five year olds experience the kind of pressures and expectations that give grown men and women ulcers. Our kids are all in their heads and old beyond their years. And collectively, we've now proven that we can get them to read and do math earlier and earlier, but I don't think it's any coincidence that more and more kids are now in occupational therapy, relearning how to be in their bodies. I don't know how I didn't always see it, but now that I have, it's impossible to ignore.

Well, one thing at a time, I suppose. For now, my kids and I are enjoying a little time out of our heads.

Mastering the 10 minute interval

I've decided that this is the next thing I really need to work on.

I've spent the last 6 years waiting for that nice long uninterrupted block of time that would allow me to make my big contribution to the universe, and it's finally dawning on me that that is never going to happen.  At this point, I think it's time to accept the fact that achieving any of my remaining dreams will rely largely on my ability to use little scraps of time... And get in the habit of overlooking the other mundane "to do" lists for at least some of those spans.

Going from a single girl in NYC to a married mother living with in-laws in the suburbs in the course of a year through me for a bit of a loop.  I got lost in the shuffle somewhere in there and put a lot of things aside. Pieces of me packed away in cardboard boxes and stored in the garage or the basement for years.  Gradually, those parts of me are finding their way to the light of day again, gasping for air after being hidden away under crumpled newspapers and unused wedding gifts.

But I have a home, a business and I'm getting the hang of this motherhood thing, so it's about time to exercise some of these old muscles (literally and figuratively).  Give my inner city girl a place to live, a way to thrive in the suburbs.  I'm working on it.  Spending more time with my old girlfriends, listening to my cheesy 80's favorites again, re-reading The Bohemian Manifesto and going for long walks alone.  But I need more!  There are too many other dimensions of me that have been starving for a little time and attention... and that after being quite indulged for many, many years before I had kids.  So I'm planning to donate all those spare intervals to the poor, neglected colors in my prism.  Prepare to be blinded by them.

This is going to take a bit of planning, however.  I'm going to have to change a few habits.  First of all, I need get over the overwhelmed, desperate feeling I get when I have some free time so that I don't spend all of it making lists in my head and trying to decide what I should do while those precious minutes slip away.   Or at the very least, I should at some point write that list down, so that I don't spend the next span of time compiling the same list in my head.  Yes, there will be laundry in the dryer and dishes either in the sink to be washed or dishwasher to be emptied.  There will be a book I've been meaning to finish.  A house I've been meaning to clean.  There will be things I'd been hoping to organize and applications of one sort or another to be filled out.  But some of those things will just have to wait while I write my masterpiece or go out for my walk.  Maybe get a massage.

And I can skip that whole step of wandering over to the fridge and snack drawer.  I don't want to realize one day that I missed my big chance to make my mark in this world because I was too busy eating.

Yeah, the next time I suddenly have a few moments to myself, I'm going to fuel my soul.

Ode to Quitting

My first job out of college was so cool... for about 10 minutes.   

I was an administrative assistant for the President of small subsidiary of a larger Japanese television network.  The company was comprised of my boss and me. So, depending on the day or event, I was the Director of Media Relations, Research Director, or my favorite, Director of International Co-Productions. I dressed like an executive and wore high heels everyday (never did that sneaker/commuting thing). I carried a nice leather briefcase. My calls were all screened and transfered in to me. I went on business trips to London and Cannes and had meetings with Presidents and CEOs of other media companies.  I got to make offers and read scripts.  And best of all, I took long, long lunches with my boyfriend or girlfriends while my boss was on business trips.

My boss was a stout little Japanese man who loved to be boss.  He introduced himself  to everyone as Dr. Matsui - a "Dr." due to his Ph.D. in Telecommunications.  Think napoleonic samurai as Michael Scott from "The Office" and you'll get the general idea.  As such, his position wasn't nearly as important as his title (President, Founder... sometimes he'd throw in an Esq.  here and there after his name for effect) might suggest.  More accurately, he was boss of me at a bogus little company he'd basically made up.  He was also President of another Japanese subsidiary with an office across town, where he was boss of Janet and Mary.  I was the brunette, Janet, the sexy blonde, and Mary, the adorable redhead - we used to joke that we were Charlie's Angels.  And I don't think any of us ever believed it was a coincidence when we met each other.

But for a few brief moments I thought that I was included in important meetings because of my intelligence and media saavy.  I read up on the companies we'd be meeting with and learned what I could about each executive.  And then I started noticing the little comments and innuendo.  Yes, it was humiliating, but at the time I was more preoccupied with how oblivious he was to the astonished looks he would get for being totally offensive and socially retarded.  He was sexist in the way that only the most impotent men need to be.  So much to prove. People would generally overlook it with the possibility of a big chunk of a production budget still on the line, but it was clear what people thought of him.  One of the presidents of a big network pulled me aside once to suggest that maybe I should call him if I was interested in making a career move, but as I wasn't sure whether it was to rescue me from such a jerk or to allow him to behave like one himself, I never pursued it.  

I did have some real work, though.  I really did do quite a bit of research.  That's part of what my company did.  We (I) researched all kinds of international media trends and put together monthly reports of how those trends could impact Japanese media companies.  And while I felt it was all more or less bullshit, I did a pretty thorough job of reporting it all.  Once I put the reports together, I'd hand them over to Dr. M. and he'd translate them into Japanese, put his name and the name of the company on the front cover in bold letters and remove any trace of me.  I knew enough Japanese characters to recognize that.

However, it was in Cannes, at MIPCOM (I can't even remember what these letters mean now), that I realized what my real purpose was.  I prepared for weeks and weeks for the meetings that I would have there.  I was so excited to be going to Cannes, and I would be going without my boss!  I had a number of meetings set up, and I was to stop by and visit a number of booths to seek out various executives we'd been communicating with.  I got my hair cut, bought some new "work clothes", just to make sure I'd look like I was serious.   All for nothing.  Well, my hair looked cute, but I hate work clothes.  I realized during my first meeting that I was by far the youngest person at this event.  A joke.  No, not even a joke.  An offering.

I had one-on-one meetings with some very important potential partners.  Every one of them a forty or fifty-something year old man.  Every one breezed through all the parts of the meetings I had prepared for and then invited me to this party or that dinner... or had I had a chance yet to just explore Cannes and see some of the nicer hotels?  And I recalled Dr. M. saying to me before I left, "You won't need to worry about meals.  Just get invited places."  

I bought sandwiches off carts in the street (delicious) for just about every meal.  I hated Cannes.

BUT, I then learned one of the greatest feelings I know.   My very favorite thing about that job, even better than the long lunches when my boss was away, was quitting.  

I didn't even know I was going to do it, which made it all the better when it actually happened.  Dr. M. was being his typical oppressive, irrational self and I openly disagreed with him about something.  I can't remember what it was - doesn't matter.  He was caught off guard by my unusually assertive behavior and began to berate me.  And I stood there, stunned, for a couple of seconds... and then I just blurted it out.  "You know what?  I don't want to work here anymore."

At first he looked enraged.  Then powerless.  Then I swear he was doing everything he could not to cry.  I felt kind of bad for him.  I mean, really, doesn't everyone feel sorry for Michael Scott, as much of a jerk as he is?  But still.  You wouldn't want to work for him.  

So I quit.  And I'm proud to say, it wasn't the last time.  Walking away from things that suck is way, way underrated.