How Boyhood the movie is changing my life

By now, I’m sure you’ve heard of the incredible feat of a movie in Boyhood, which was filmed with the same actors over a period of 12 years. Having simply seen the previews, and hear a review on the radio, I decided to take myself out to see this 2 hour and 45 minute film that is being touted as an award winning movie with very little action. It, by all accounts, has broken many cinematic rules. There’s no plot, besides simply watching a boy grow up, and the actors (Patricia Arquette, Ethan Hawke) committed over 12 years to make this film. The main character, Mason, played by Ellar Coltrane, was only 6 when he started the project. 

So there I was, sitting in a dark movie theater for a matinee showing with five other people. A young couple, who I judged to have no children yet, and older couple who seemed like grandparents, and a guy about my age. The five of were there to see the magic. 

But it wasn’t magic. Not at first. It was cute seeing the six year old boy’s antics, and how he related to his older sister, and his mom, and the scenes from life that unfolded before my eyes. Halfway through I felt bored. There was no action. Tiny episodes of drama, but mostly interpersonal relating. Scenes from year to year were marked by Mason’s haircuts. I was sitting in this theater thinking “what? what? this is it? this is what I paid good money for? Really? This is all there is? The cinematography isn’t even that spectacular. And the soundtrack? Is there even a soundtrack?”

These thoughts were much like the thoughts I have when meditating, or halfway through yoga. Monkey mind. I sat back for the rest of the film, followed the loose plot, and then BAM. (uh, spoiler alert for those who haven’t seen the film…do not read on…)

BAM

Mason graduates from high school. His mom, played by Patricia Arquette, is sitting in her new apartment with her now-grown son, in that awkward teenage-almost-college-student-scruffy way is packing up his belongings. And she starts to cry. She says, “I just thought there’d be more.” At least that’s how I remembered it. She might have said “I just thought there’d be more time,” but nonetheless, I started to cry. Little tears rolled down my cheeks, not a full on sobbing mess, I can keep it together of course. 

The final scene is Mason hanging out with some of his new college buddies, and he has this conversation about the idea of ‘seizing the moment,’ rephrasing it by saying, “I think the moments seize you,” and suddenly the movie was spectacular. I think that was the magic in it. That I couldn’t tell how beautiful it was until it was over and I looked back, remembered earlier scenes and saw how the tied in to the ending. That life was unfolding and no matter how mindful in the here and now, there is something powerful in that moment of reflection, introspection, nostalgia. It was pure magic. 

And would it be crazy to say that a movie could influence me to want another child? No, that’d be totally daft, right? But I found myself, as I was watching the scenes unfolding, and the nostalgia I felt at the end when she said ‘I thought there’d be more time,’ that the reason I have only wanted 1 kid is not because I am afraid another will distract me from BIG life goals like curing cancer (or travelling to India) or doing a career I love…but that it will distract me from doing things like Buzzfeed quizzes. Now that might sound silly, but it’s true. When I get angry with Potamus for ‘interfering’ with my time, or not going to bed because I ‘just want a fucking minute to myself,’ It’s not because I want a minute to myself to do art or yoga or spend time with friends. Because I manage to find time to structure into my life to do those things. It’s that I want him to ‘go the fuck to sleep’ so I can scroll, scroll, scroll through Pinterest on my phone. 

I was asked once if I would get to be that 80 year old woman if I would regret not trying to have another kid. And I know the answer would be ‘no,’ if it meant I could be the best parent to 1 kid while pursuing my amazing life goals. I will regret not trying for another kid if it’s because I wanted to pin recipes to pinterest that I know I’ll never use. You know? 

Parenting is my mindful meditation. I get to drop into something deeper beyond buzzfeed quizzes and the monkey chatter of my thoughts. This isn’t a pregnancy announcement, or even an announcement that we will be trying any time in the near future (soonest will be next summer), but something settled in my body and heart when I watched this film. I realized that it is hard, and amnesia sets in at some point and I will say to myself, “I just thought there’d be more time.” 

Embrace the Rain

Okay, maybe I was a little hard on other moms in the whole bathing suit post I wrote earlier. Like maybe my point was lost, that it’s not so much about wearing a bathing suit (that was supposed to be my metaphor), it’s more about GETTING INVOLVED with your kid’s lives. It’s being in front of the camera so your kids will know that you weren’t just the photographer/bystander/witness of their life, that you were there both physically, but also emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.

Yesterday it rained. I don’t mean a normal Seattle rain, where it drizzles and the ground is moist (ugh, I hate that word), but it was a DOWNPOUR. I had so much paperwork to do from my on-call day, that I kept Potamus home from daycare and we snuggled in bed until 9:45 and then he watched Wild Kratts and I did my mental health assessments for the crazy crisis counseling day I’d had the day before. It was a perfect day to stay inside, curled up on the couch watching cartoons and working from home. Even the dog was mellowed by the downpour outside.

And then, when Potamus came up for air from his Wild Kratts binge, he noticed the rain. And we were off. Puddle jumping outside in his bare feet (I barely convinced him he at least needed a coat). This kid is so his mama’s boy it’s not funny. I remember the squishy feeling of puddle jumping in bare feet…in college (yes, I went a year without shoes ya’ll), that I risked the judgment from my neighbors and let him be a little barefoot hippie rainy Seattle baby.

I wasn’t wearing a bathing suit, though Potamus probably wanted his swim trunks on. Because it wasn’t about wearing a bathing suit, it was about getting involved. Being present. Puddle jumping with my toddler, whereas a week ago I was swimming in a pool with him, because these moments count. They are the things that we grow up to remember. Like the memory of jumping fearlessly into my daddy’s arms in the swimming pool as a kid, and how on the ride home we’d sing The Muffin Man.

Wear the goddamn bathing suit. Wear the rain jacket. Or take off your shoes and jump in puddles with your barefoot hippie kid. It’s that simple. Really. The dishes will wait. The pounds may never be shed. It’s okay.

 

 

 

Take Time to Stack Rocks

With an hour to kill before dinner plans, Potamus and I took advantage of the Seattle sunshine to get out for a walk. There’s this housing development one street over, and at the end of the cul de sac is a drainage pond where some ducks congregate. Potamus loves the ducks, and got really excited when we headed in that direction. He kept shouting “duck! duck!” (which actually sounds more like ‘duh! duh!’).

Halfway down the block we came across a pile of rocks. Fascinated, Potamus spent the next 20 minutes stacking and unstacking rocks. And I let him. This rock stacking is actually a zen practice that you can google (and see amazing pictures) from around the world. But it was hard for me to stop and just feel the sunshine on my shoulders. I kept thinking ‘but, we’re on a walk, to see ducks,” because that’s my personality…goal oriented (mostly) and not always about the journey.

I’m trying to slow down. Because when depression and anxiety ramp up in my life I usually try to fill myself up with a lot of things that actually numb me out. And so instead of focusing on the ducks and whether he’d be disappointed if we had to turn around for dinner after only walking 100 feet to the rock stack, I let myself be in the moment. There was nothing more exciting for him than that moment. He was right where he needed to be. I was right where I needed to be.

Take some time today to stack the rocks my friends.

A Break in the Clouds

perspective

In the past 24 hours, Seattle has been pelted with an insane amount of rain, complete with incredible thunder and lightening displays. It seems like Fall has been ushered in, in a very wet, dreary way, but then, just as soon as the storm started, the sun came out. I was walking to my car and realized that it was sunny, warm, and I probably shouldn’t have dressed Potamus in a sweater since it was approaching 70 degrees. What a drastic, dramatic, and unexpected shift in the weather.

And it was just like that with my mood. Two days of just feeling down, depressed, frustrated with my parenting and then Voila (which my mom pronounces wahv lah, haha) my attitude changed. And I’m feeling misty eyed just thinking about it. The first perceptible shift was while trolling around on Facebook and seeing this story posted by the yoga studio that I attend. This gist is: we shout in anger because when we’re upset our hearts feel very far away from the person we’re upset at. Whoa, that was such a beautiful image and I couldn’t help but think about how it has been troubling me and Potamus and Boof in the past few days. My heart certainly has felt distant and shouting has ensued.

The second shift happened while nursing Potamus to sleep, while I was reading Huffington Post on my phone. This article called “A Letter To My Son’s Best Friend” almost made me cry, as I was experiencing, momentarily, how fast Potamus is growing up. The author, writing to her son’s stuffed bunny, says:

He’s going to outgrow you. And me too, in some ways. No, I’m actually not fine with that. Yes, thank you… I would like a tissue, please

There are moments where I am exhausted by the constant neediness. The way in which I am being tugged on and pulled at and cannot satisfy his need to be near me. There are the hard times where I’m still 100% parent, even when Boof is here, because he will always choose me over daddy (unless I’m out of the room or out of the house). It’s exhausting. And it’s temporary. But when I’m totally, completely, and utterly exhausted, it’s hard to be his whole world and give just a little more.

It reminds me of the deep pranayama breathing practice we do to start the Bikram practice, where the instructor says “breathe in, a little more, another sip of air, just when you think you can’t, breathe in a little more. It might feel uncomfortable, or make you feel dizzy, but one more sip.” And then repeats that on the exhale. Because I can always get just a little more air in, and I can always exhale just a little more. 

So, just for today, I’m going to give a little more, love a little more, breathe in the sweaty sleeping toddler neediness a little more, because it is going fast.

What things have you encountered that change your perspective just a little bit?

Manipulation, frustration or both? How to deal with toddler tantrums?

Pictures can be so deceiving. Like these, they show a slice of life…most notably, after Potamus has fallen asleep. While he’s never been a good sleeper, per se, the tantruming at bedtime the past few nights has really thrown us for a loop, and I’m not really sure what to make of it.

My gut says that he is a) testing boundaries and b) in need of help transitioning from fun to sleep. Because the first night we noticed it was when grammy and grampy were over, and we noticed him getting tired, so we whisked him off to bed. Arms outrstreched SCREAMING for my parents was heartbreaking, but he was sleepy and needed to sleep. 1.5 hours later, Boof and I exited his room, feeling exhausted and like we had “been to war” (his words, not mine). I realized that we hadn’t given him enough time to transition between the two activities, but hot dang that was like wrestling a smallish alligator.

So, we’ve only just begun really sticking to the bedtime routine of early bed after bath, stories, and nursing. I think the fact that it’s light outside doesn’t help and the fact that he’s nursing but not getting to the milk-drunk state anymore, so he pops off the boob and wants to play. We’re being firm in the rule that he can play on his bed, quietly, but can’t roam the room getting into the diaper genie or throwing blocks. If he doesn’t stay on the bed he can bounce on the exercise ball with Boof. Potamus  is NOT HAPPY about this arrangment.

And this is where I begin to wonder what to do…there are frustration tantrums, where he gets upset when I take a toy away or we leave my parents suddenly, and then there are these moments where I see so much of my own teenage stubborness in him. He was screaming and flailing all around the bed, and then he lulled us into a sense of security, and then BAM, he tried to launch himself over my arm and off the bed to play. It appeared calculated, and Monday-Morning-Quarterbacking, is actually pretty funny. But last night? Last night I was slightly pissed at, what appeared, to be manipulation.

Reminds me of the time that my dad was wrestling me to the ground because I was smashing mugs on our hardwood floor (I was probably 17), and he pinned me and I let myself fall limp for a minute to get him to buy my surrender before I began fighting again. It’s a good strategy in theory, but in both cases, it didnt’ work. After only an hour, Potamus was asleep, but it has left me with a knot in my stomach about what’s to come.

Boof says most parents struggle with bedtime routine, and I want to know from you all…is that true? Do all parents struggle with bedtime?

And I know that Potamus isn’t being manipulative in a Ted Bundy sort of way, because I have some grasp of brain development, but it’s the same thing with our dog…it appears that X + Y behavior = manipulation. It appeared that he stopped tantruming, thought about what he wanted, and then launched for it. I don’t know what to do, I think setting boundaries is important, and a lot of attachment-style parenting is preventing meltdowns by avoiding the stimuli, but what to do?

Suggestions?

Motherhood with Mental Illness…or Introverted Parentingis hard…or how I yelled at my kid because I was being a cranky-pants.

This is the face of a mentally ill mother…

A few days after posting a happy-clappy sunshine post about how WONDERFUL motherhood has been lately, I had one of those 0-60 moments where I just couldnotfreakingdealwithitanymore. Granted, I think some of my frustration stemmed from an awesome weekend of hanging out with friends. I forget, as an introvert, that sometimes even just hanging out in small groups of friends can be exhausting and paired with not going to be early (because of aforementioned hanging out), I go through some moments where I am worn thin and don’t even realize it (because I’ve been having fun). It was a really lovely weekend, overall, I managed to behave myself at Easter dinner and participate in mind-numbing small-talk with Boof’s second cousins, and watched Potamus dance to music and explore their boxes of toys, and ate some yummy food.

And then 8:30 pm hit and Potamus wasn’t asleep. Well, after a struggle, where I told him stories and explained how sleep would help, and did his progressive muscle relaxation, and nursed him, and snuggled him, and rubbed his back, he was asleep. And I sneaked out to watch a much needed episode of Millionaire Matchmaker. Five minutes in he was crying, unconsolably, and Boof was off getting gas for his car, so I was alone, and tired and tried to get him to fall back asleep but it kept getting worse until I yelled:

JUST STOP!

My very embarassed and rational Monday-morning mind hates admitting that AND acknowledges that shouting at a screaming toddler doesn’t actually make the situation better. Ever.

In order to put a stop to my self-shaming, I told Boof what I had done. And I looked my son in the eye, this morning, and told him I was sorry. He might not understand what I was saying, but it was something I needed to do. He was in his high chair and I said,

“buddy, I’m sorry about last night. I yelled at you and that wasn’t fair. You weren’t doing anything wrong, you were trying to tell me something (he was majorly hungry, scarfing down yogurt and crackers when Boof came home and I handed Potamus to him). I’m sorry that I scared you and that you were sad and didn’t understand what was going on.”

I almost started to cry in this apology, looking in his eyes when I said it, and I felt so humble before this quizzical toddler. He looked like he understood what I was saying, and while I’m not sure it will curb all yelling, it was a moment that made think about how I will speak to him in the future. There was something about getting down, looking him in the eye and realizing, again, that he is a person with thoughts and feelings and my crazy frustration level at his inability to communicate is NOT OKAY.

When I step back, and try to analyze the “whys” of what happened, I wonder…is it because of my depression/anxiety? Is it because I’m a burnt-out itnrovert at the end of a long weekend and I need to do some more self-care before I do self-implosion? Am I just a struggling mom who isn’t perfect? A combination of all three? Do I just have ridiculous expectations of myself? Do other mothers yell at their toddlers when they are frustrated?