Honey Grey Eyes

This kid, ya’ll. He’s pretty dang amazing. I love his personality, and watching him grow up, and laughing at his funny little ways of saying things. But my heart is so wistful from this weekend, when he was napping in the back seat of the car. The car was idling in the driveway, and I was reading my book, and when he woke up (scared), he just wanted a snuggle before going into the house.

In the clear afternoon light I got a real good look into this sweet boy’s face. And I was shocked. I’m sure I’d seen it before, but dismissed it until I was ready to face the truth. My baby no longer has blue eyes. He’ll be turning three, and while it might have been four or six or eight months that we’ve been living with this truth, I now cannot hide from the truth. He’s a honey grey green eyed boy (what, is that classified as hazel?).

They’re beautiful eyes. Clear and muddy at the same time. Speckled green and gray and seem to change in the light. But they aren’t blue, or blue-green like mine, and that’s where the wistfulness comes in. I knew it was inevitable. I knew that the blonde blue eyed baby that seemed miraculous odds against a dark hair dark eyed dominant gene pool. I have loved looking into a face that resembles my own so much, but this beautiful hard part about parenting is also letting him get to be the wonderful little boy that he is. And that means embracing the sweet honey grey green eyed toddler who says “pooperman” because he can’t pronounce superman.

Fall Bike Rides

The best part about trolling the thrift stores weekly is coming across a gently used Radio Flyer trike for $14. Potamus is in heaven, and we’ve even bent the ‘no bikes inside’ rule for him. The hardwood floors might get banged up a bit, but it’s really cute to see how much he loves his new mode of transportation. Scooting down the long hallway, sitting in the living room eating a snack and watching his show, I’m happy we found such a good one for him!

And then I look at this picture and see how quickly time goes by. How the days ARE long and the years ARE short and think in just a mere two months he’ll be 3. And my anxious mind spirals into all the what-ifs about trying for another or staying one-and-done, and it doesn’t help that some facebook friends have ‘come out’ as one-and-done parents and I begin to be envious of anyone who can clearly make up their mind about anything parenting related. I love this little boy, and how he still snuggles in to my body, especially when he’s sick. I love that daycare teaches him to be polite, saying ‘okay mommy,’ and ‘thank you mommy,’ because Lord knows if he was in my care 24/7 he’d know how to say ‘this fucking_________’ because I can’t seem to control my potty mouth.

I’m thankful for the calm fall weather, and bike rides around the neighborhood, and that life is good in moments even when it’s hard in others.

From a Distance

Our 2nd annual Cama Beach camping trip was well under way, and I realized that over the past 5 weeks (4 of which have been spent in some fashion with my parents) that I have been somehow softening toward my parents as people, and possibly even experiencing some softening of memories of childhood. I blame this softening, in part, by the joy my parents had in meeting Mari and her husband and their kids when we all went there for the weekend to wine taste. And the joy my parents had in meeting my friend Amelia as she came up for the day to Cama Beach. They want to know my friends. They want to know my life. 

Memory is a strange thing. Because, if I squint hard enough, soften into a deep breath and let my muscles relax, I can remember the feeling of childhood. I might have been an anxious child in ways, but I was also blissfully carefree in other ways. It wasn’t until we moved in adolescents, and I began to feel awkward and misunderstood and took a cynical look at my parent’s parenting. And then there was the un-diagnosed depression and anxiety that clouded my mind. And in college, and young adulthood there was a VERY cynical look back, seeing my parents in all their faults, how I would do it differently, how very misunderstood I was and how much I felt I had to hide to receive their ‘un’conditional love. 

And there I was, sitting on a log watching my parents play with Potamus on the beach and I just felt soft toward them, toward my memories of them growing up. I haven’t gone to the extreme of saying that everything they did was right, or that nothing they did hurt me at all, but there was this settling in to the gray. That my parents annoy me sometimes AND they love my son (and me, yes, I’ll even go that far). It was really a sweet feeling to just sit and be and not feel all this leftover angst that I usually feel when I’m with them. 

The Last Time the Seahawks were in the Super Bowl…

In 2006, I was living in New Delhi, India, and it just so happened that my home team, the Seattle Seahawks were in the Super Bowl. Because of the crazy time difference, I woke up at something ridiculous like 3am, to watch the game (hallelujah it was on! usually I’d only be able to watch cricket!), and nestled in to a very unusual Super Bowl party: middle of the night, with leftover Dominos pizza (yes, they have Dominoes in Delhi), all by myself. At around 5am, my flatmate came out to watch the game with me, but it was still just the two of us, though we did text a few other Americans we knew living around the country. It seemed like all the expats were watching the game, but I had a special stake in the game, being FROM Seattle (and the fact that it was our FIRST TIME EVER in the big game!).

Of course, we lost.

And I called in “sick,” from school that day. I’m sure I used it as an excuse to not go in, but still, I was millions of miles away from my friends and family and watching the game in the middle of the night, by myself, I felt so alone. And yet, I was mourning with all of the other ‘Hawks fans that day. We were robbed. And today is the day we hope for redemption.

It’s crazy how much has changed in 8 years.

I’ll be watching the Superbowl here, in Seattle, with my husband, and son, and a few acquaintances with kids (because our friends won tickets to NY to go to a Superbowl PARTAY!). Maybe I’ll order Dominoes for old times sake…

Two Buck Chuck

I’m not too proud to admit that I keep a few bottles of “two buck chuck” around for occasions like these…you know…when you need a good cry into a glass of cheap red wine. Because yeah, that’s where I am. Snivelling on the couch after a long day of work (which was really just as long as any other day, and in retrospect actually a ‘really good’ day). And more than actually sobbing it’s the feeling like I’m going to sob that’s overwhelming.

I don’t know where it came from, but I saw some baby pictures of chubster Potamus and I just had this incredible nostalgic longing for those times. The sweet little pudgy arms of my firstborn as he reaches out to touch the water in the summer fountain. He was six months old and it feels like forever ago. And I can’t imagine never getting to experience THAT moment again. And yet there’s been hundreds of moments since then that I’ve actively chosen to ignore, or numb out through sleep or Facebook or because motherhood is so fucking exhausting.

I want another baby. And it makes no sense whatsoever. With the first go round I was naively unprepared and spent far too long (from my judgemental mind’s eye) focusing on my shifting identity from non-mom to mom and pining over all the things I’ve ‘lost’ rather than savoring all that I’ve gained. Like a heart that’s too big for my chest and comes thumping out in big crocodile tears that I didn’t experience often as a non-mom. I want to know another child from the beginning. To see them grow up and experience life and learn who they are in the world. It’s a beautifully insane idea, and yet I am struggling so much  as it is in this very moment of motherhood.

Though, in the wise words of Mari’s therapist, “people don’t choose to have another kid because it’s easier or less money,” which is true truth that should be put on a bumper sticker in my brain.

But for now I’ll sip the sauce and hope the tears subside.

Face Forward to Go Forward

I had used the line before, but it was different this time. I’m not sure why this client clung to me (metaphorically, of course), but sometimes that’s the nature of crisis-work. There becomes a trauma-bond that they feel when you come and see them in the most vulnerable state, and then six weeks later they are crushed when you tell them that they have changed, are stronger, and need to keep moving forward without you. It’s the nature of crisis work, nothing personal, I tell them up-front, but there were those clients who had lots of feelings when it came to that final goodbye.

And so, my Family-Advocate and I, sat in the moldy smelling family room, with her mom and dad and sister and long-time therapist, and we had a final family meeting. And the dad, overwhelming nervous about the prospect of this crisis happening again, asked “what do we do if it happens again. We don’t want to go back,” and I replied:

When you’re driving you look through the windshield. You need to glance in the rear-view mirror to see where you’ve come from, and what might be behind you, but if you stare in the rearview mirror you’ll crash. You have to keep your eyes focused on what’s ahead. The forward journey. Glance back, but keep moving forward.

There was a moment of hush in the room. It wasn’t anything magical, I’d said it a hundred times, and it’s something I believe in, but in that moment it hit the family in a spot that they needed. Even the therapist, who had been working with this young lady for years, and was a long-time therapy supervisor, was stunned. I might have blushed because half the time I think I’m fucking everything up and about 1 step away from being found a fraud.

+++++++++

I thought of this experience this morning, as I buckled Potamus into the car. We’re a month early, but we turned his car seat around to face forward. His legs had been scrunched for awhile now, and we thought it best. And he was Mr. Nonchalant about the whole thing, clearly based on the picture above. And as I drove I kept catching glimpses of him in the backseat and had to remind myself to keep my eyes on the road. I could state at his wild blonde hair and intense eyes forever. I could get stuck in the nostalgia of the first car trip with him, all 7lbs, bundled up so snugly as we drove home from the hospital. I know that nostalgia, sentiment, memories are good…really good…but I can’t live there, in the past. We move forward, driving off into the sunrise, and work, and daycare, and a new Holiday-Week, and it’s okay.

 

Precious Moments

How many hours of my life will be spent in grocery store parking lots with a sleeping child in the backseat? How many extra miles will be driven with one hand on the steering wheel and the other draped awkwardly into the backseat to hold the pudgy hand of a cranky tired child who needs his mother’s touch in rush hour traffic?

He knows the words “uh oh,” and “no,” and only says “maamaa,” in an emphatic demanding tone. Clearly he knows he’s the boss of my heart.

His pudgy toddler hands clench together barely able to hold the glee. His whole body trembles, and his laughter is borderline maniacal clown, when he learns he’ll get a small package of m&ms, or some other treat.

Sweaty warm naptime cheeks. The way he reaches out for me when I sneak away to pee. We laid together like that yesterday for three hours. Is he getting sick? Did he know mama is bordering on a nervous breakdown and obliged with extra dream time?

The day he climbed into the backseat by himself. His determination to play with play dough for an hour instead of eating dinner. His infectious laughter as he chases the dog down the hallway. His overdramatic head hanging and pouting when I’ve scolded him or told him we can’t flush his cars down the toilet.

In one day there are a thousand and more moments I want to save forever in my heart.

So many feels

flying in the backyard

I am so proud of my boy. He’s made the transition to 3 days a week daycare (soon to be 4 days) and he is doing so amazing I can barely write about it. I mean, he’s doing so well that I feel guilty we ever tried to have him not be in daycare every day. Which I know is my mama-guilt-brain, because my heart knows that while he cried during daycare days, he was also with grandma, and me, and that’s priceless. But seriously, in one week he has gone from needing to be carried into school, promptly crying, and me tearing myself away…to walking into his classroom after carefully selecting the Dora-doll (he’s not allowed to have Dolly at school) and crying a little bit, but sitting at his breakfast table eating his breakfast. And today I picked him up from school and he was sitting at the table doing a little art project, and I suddenly saw his future flash before my eyes. And I got that creepy mom in I Love You Forever thought, that someday I’m going to sneak into his room and watch him sleep and miss my baby. Who was so sweet and snuggly and happy. Because he’s growing up so fast I can barely stand it. Which is the ultimate mom cliche and when I hear it I want to barf.

And that though, of him growing up so fast, is what makes me think about having another kid. I know, make up your damn mind Monk-Monk, one day you’re wanting to hold off, the next you’re talking about having kids. Yeah, I know that sounds like I’m confused, but I’m not. I know I don’t want another kid right now, I actually know that I’m a 1 kid person who would stretch to be a 2 kid person in that situation. Just like I was a 0 kid person until we had 1.

But God, I miss that newborn in my arms. I wonder about what it’s like to only have 1 birth story to t

\ell, that I won’t somehow get to experience that terribly difficult and powerful and beautiful experience again. And while I have felt very present and mindful through most of the almost-two-years of his life, there have been times where I’ve been angry and resentful and not present, and I regret that. But overall I am doing an amazing job of being present in this moment of time with Potamus, but the nostalgia and sentimental feelings persist. Where did my baby go?

Today Potamus did the hand motions to the “Wheels on the Bus” and yesterday he tried to put his socks on. He throws his hands up in the air and exaggerates the “what?” look when he does something naughty. He’s sleeping mostly through the night (in our bed) and is mostly- weaned. He nurses at night, once, but it rarely puts him to sleep. And sometimes I nurse him for 10 minutes in the morning to get him to fall back asleep. So it’s between 1 and 2 times a day, at most. There’s been days where he’s gone 24 hours without nursing. And his attachment to Dolly has ramped up. But we’re all sleeping well and in this little sweet spot that is so very good.

And yet we’re right on the back of a really hard summer interpersonally between Boof and I, between me and my own concept of myself, and while we’re in a little parenting-problem-lull, we’re struggling in other ways. Like schedules are still so crazy that I feel as if we are two separated-single-parents co-parenting, and doing a remarkably undamaging and also shitty job of it.

But my transition back to work has been stellar so far, though I’m tired more than I thought I’d be. Teaching starts officially on Tuesday, so that’ll add a new dimension to the weeks, but I am excited. for the challenge. I don’t know how something can both be such a hard time, but also such a good time at the same moment. It’s a very strange feeling to be straddling all of those feelings at the same time.

Tell me, how are YOU doing? What are your kids up to that you’re proud of?

Summer in Review

first day of school (work) for mama!

Summer is over, and I am back to work (shh, no I’m not blogging from my desk when I should be putting together packets for the beginning of school). I decided that I was going to handle this transition differently than others, that I wouldn’t begin thinking or talking about it ahead of time. I have noticed my tendency to process, re-process, and then OVER-PROCESS impending transitions, and that actually contributes to my increased anxiety. So this time I ignored the transition. Maybe it was denial, or maybe it was really awesome coping, I’m not quite sure. And while last night I had a touch of restless sleeping, I’m going to chalk it up to that rascally 20 month old lying next to me.

To allay the back-to-work-mama guilt that started to spin my wheels around 5pm (all those ‘but I should have done this’ or ‘is it going to be hard for Potamus to go to daycare 4 days from only 2 days?’ thoughts, I decided to focus on what I HAD accomplished this summer. And it turns out that I was a pretty freaking amazing mom in the past 3 months of summer:

• Road trip to Cannon Beach
• no less than 6 trips to the zoo
• no less than 5 trips to KidsQuest Museum
• Road trip to Cama Beach State Park
• Road trip to Eastern Washington
• Splash park shenanigans
• Weekly lunch dates (with tot-in-tow) with mom friends
• Puyallup Fair
• barbecues with the grandparents
• splashing in our backyard ‘pool’
• endless bubble blowing excursions
• lunch dates to Panera
• driving around listening to Macklemore to get Potamus to take a nap

I mean, the list could go on and on. Where I failed, in my grumpy attitude toward my husband, and resenting him working 3 jobs, I also excelled in rolling with the punches in a lot of cases I re-defined my identity as a summertime-stay-at-home-mom, and am now back to work, and I will miss out on certain aspects of life with Potamus, but I will also gain a lot, as well. I’m trying to focus on what I did, the moments we snuggled, and the experiences of him hugging me voluntarily for the first time, how I’ve really gotten to see him develop into a funny little person with a personality as big as the moon, and a sense of humor to rival any tv comedian. It was a good summer. Yes it was hard, but, like labor, I remember all the good parts, all the love I felt, in betwen all the sandwich making, diaper changing, tantrum avoiding messes. In wistful moments I think of how much of a sweet baby he was at the beginning of the summer, and how a ‘short’ three months has turned him in to quite the ‘little man’ toddler. Sigh. Those hugs he gives me, though…I mean, that’s gold.

How have you helped yourself navigate tricky transitions? Tips for staying sane?

If we could go back, would we?

we wore stripes to match, clearly we discussed this ahead of time 😉

There’s something lovely about making re-connections in person. After 5 years, my college bestie Laura made it back up to the PacNW and was able to carve out two lovely chunks of time to spend with me. It was wonderful. Our relationship has ebbed and flowed over the past few years, with many life altering situations happening on either end and a phone anxiety getting in the way of keeping each other informed regularly. There was a time when I wondered if we would ever consider each other friends again, but then, we started talking. And while it was somewhat awkward at first, we re-connected…and she came to visit her family, which only solidified our friendship further.

We’re both older, less inclined to gallavanting willy nilly through parks or staying up super late talking in the back of her pickup truck. There were early nights and lots of cups of coffee. And she got to meet Potamus, which was so delightful. What I enjoy about her friendship is that while we picked up where we left off, we were able to fondly recall some of those really good times in college, but we didn’t live in nostalgia land.

Nostalgia land is what I notice with Boof, when we get together with some of his friends and all they do is talk about highschool/college/camp/whatever memory they have from each other. Nostalgia is fun to glance at, but not a fun place to live. The wisftful sadness of wishing to go back to an easier time doesn’t work. It’s like driving, you can glance in the rearview mirror, but you’re sure to get in an accident if you only look in the rearview mirror (unless you’re backing up, heh!). So it was nice to acknowledge the past, but to build our relationship in the here & now.

And when I dropped her off at the airport, I surprised myself with my vulnerable side, and teared up. I was able to express that I had missed her and hoped that we would keep in touch more often. Because I love this girl, ya know? She’s one of the besties that I want to keep in my life. But I love my life, and so, if I could go back…to the ease and quiet of college…I know that I wouldn’t.

My wedding day

Would you go back to an easier time (college/high school/childhood)?