Three days until Halloween and the truth is, I can’t wait until it’s over. I may be egged for saying this but I hate Halloween. To me the holiday is more stressful than Christmas. It’s not the fear of evil spirits, or the arachnophobic reactions I have to the giant spiders hanging over neighborhood windows, or even the ushering in of candy season (to be followed by birthdays, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Easter). It is the pressure of costuming.
By the time you read this, I will probably be on the brink of an all-nighter to create a Halloween costume for my child so that he will not have to attend his school Halloween parade dressed as, well, a second-grader. It’s not that I create elaborate, imaginative, amazing costumes with hard to find accessories or intricate detailing. It’s just that we can’t seem to agree on an idea until time is running out.
I’ve already asked him to go as a Cub Scout, kung fu fighter, or something else he already has a “costume” for, but he’s on to me, and wasn’t going to be conned into wearing a uniform, even if he could be a black belt for the night.
We went through all the catalogs and walked countless store aisles, but nothing excited him. You see, my child is a little unconventional, so the mainstream characters don’t interest him. For the record, once he was a “Dead End” sign.
Even when his interests coincide directly with popular culture, his approach is from the side. For example, he loves Mario Brothers, but he has no interest in dressing as Mario, a costume both easy to create and easy to purchase. Instead, he wants to dress up as an obscure bad guy from those video games, which are odd-shaped creatures that don’t conform to conventional costuming materials. Believe me, I know. [Note that he actually did dress as Mario when he was three, when Mario himself was obscure - known only to other parents before the Wii introduced the character to his generation.] I suppose I should admire his unique style, but this time of year, I wish he had a thing for Buzz Lightyear, Luke Skywalker, or even Scooby Doo.
And frankly, I am terrible at coming up with costume ideas for my children or myself. While I’m always up for a night out, invitations to Halloween parties fill me with dread as I can never quite get a costume right. Store-bought ideas usually involve fishnet stockings and skimpy clothes, which is not my style. And couple ideas usually involve my reluctant husband who is even more resistant to dressing up than I am. My default costume used to be a hippie or clown – both of which involve nothing more than finding the right combination of family clothing and a little makeup. But now, my husband and I fight over our one official NFL jersey or the scrubs he got at the hospital when our youngest was born.
I am also a little scared of people in costume, which I guess is a little similar to people who have an aversion to clowns. Sure, I smile watching adorable parades of princesses and super heroes at school and seeing the shy toddlers taking their first costumed steps for candy outside my door. But I flinch when I see gangs of kids running up the walk, or open the door to face Scream masks, especially when I notice that my supply of candy is running dangerously low.
Perhaps it stems back to my own Halloween nightmares, the most memorable of which occurred in sixth grade. A friend and I were ending our trick or treating, heading home with bags full of candy and giggling together as girls will do, when three older boys dressed in black jumped out from the trees and grabbed us. I got away, but my friend’s sandwich board costume was torn apart and her candy stolen, and both of us were shaken up after an unexpected attack in what had previously been the unconditional comfort of our childhood neighborhood.
Later in high school, the memory of an unidentified masked man weaving through a party still haunts me, not to mention similar experiences at large metropolitan parades during my college and adult years.
This year, I tried to get ahead of the holiday, inspired by my daughter’s Elmo obsession to buy us all Sesame Street themed shirts. But I wasn’t able to find one for my husband, and besides, t-shirts don’t really make a costume. However, my family has decided that mine is just perfect , so for Halloween this year I’ll be…….Oscar the Grouch.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Ahhhh, Summer
Ah, summer. School’s out, the weather is warm, the days are long. If only the realities of summer as a parent lived up to the memories of summer as a carefree kid.
My childhood summers consisted of days playing outdoors in a bathing suit that never had time to dry with a backyard and neighborhood full of friends until it got really, really dark. Lying on a lounge chair intentionally browning, coated in suntan oil, fueled by pizza and ice cream, living in the moment, and feeling invincible. Those were the days.
But as a parent – well, let’s just say it’s not my favorite time of year.
Summer is no “vacation” for parents -- instead it is the time when we work the hardest. Before having children, summer’s “longer days” meant time for an evening walk or a glass of wine on the porch after work. Now, they just feel a lot longer than their 24 hours because we have to fill every minute. Also, bedtimes get later, but I am finding that wake up times do not necessarily change (unless you have teenagers, when the best thing about summer vacation is sleeping in).
Juggling multiple children becomes even harder in the summer as younger children must be dragged along with older siblings to and from camps and activities all day long. If a drop-off requires the whole family to actually exit the car, then the challenge becomes to get the stubborn toddler back in the carseat before it is time to return for pickup.
And what happens when one child’s pickup is during another’s naptime? I know I don’t want to have to manage both a tired camper and a cranky baby in my house.
It is hard enough to entertain a seven-year-old and an eighteen-month-old in good moods. It’s not quite fair to say they don’t do the same things, because my daughter would eagerly attempt everything her brother does and then some. Unfortunately, she can’t do everything he does, and often he doesn’t want her to. So then the question becomes how to watch them both while keeping them apart.
Playdates help, but they are also harder to coordinate during the summer months. Back in my day, when school was out you could find everyone in their backyards, but now kids’ varying camp, activity, and vacation schedules make it hard to locate friends.
The summer can be especially difficult for working parents, as their working hours remain the same while their children’s schedules disappear. It can mean months of planning to arrange short-term childcare, and possibly weeks of adjustment for the children. [It is unfortunate that our school schedule has not been adjusted from its agrarian origins to meet the needs of our more industrial society. Just think what it would mean to our family lives if working hours and school hours were more compatible.]
As for taking an actual vacation, well many moms describe this as just “taking the show on the road.” For families with young children, travel means doing the same chores just with fewer resources. I’ve never gone through clothing faster than when on vacation at the beach with no washing machine and humid air that makes a mockery of the term “air dry”. Renting a house for the week? Bring your own towels and sheets, cook and clean up after your meals, vacuum before you leave – when exactly is the relaxing part? And as for entertaining the kids? Well, I used to marvel at how many toys parents would pack just for a weekend visit. Now I find myself in the same boat (or should I say, very crowded car).
Don’t get me wrong, I like summer fun in the sun as much as the next guy….ok, no, I really don’t. My hair is frizzy, my nail polish is forever chipped, and my skin is sweaty. I don’t like to wear a swimsuit in public, to obsessively stalk my children with sunblock, or to feel the sand between my toes (or on my kids, or in my car). I find myself tracking the 69 days until the first day of school just as eagerly as my son counted down the 180 days of the school year. I guess I’m just a summer Scrooge.
But then, as my children and I chase fireflies in our flip-flops one balmy evening, I hear the sound of the ice cream truck and run to track down my wallet before it passes. Ahhhhh, summer!
My childhood summers consisted of days playing outdoors in a bathing suit that never had time to dry with a backyard and neighborhood full of friends until it got really, really dark. Lying on a lounge chair intentionally browning, coated in suntan oil, fueled by pizza and ice cream, living in the moment, and feeling invincible. Those were the days.
But as a parent – well, let’s just say it’s not my favorite time of year.
Summer is no “vacation” for parents -- instead it is the time when we work the hardest. Before having children, summer’s “longer days” meant time for an evening walk or a glass of wine on the porch after work. Now, they just feel a lot longer than their 24 hours because we have to fill every minute. Also, bedtimes get later, but I am finding that wake up times do not necessarily change (unless you have teenagers, when the best thing about summer vacation is sleeping in).
Juggling multiple children becomes even harder in the summer as younger children must be dragged along with older siblings to and from camps and activities all day long. If a drop-off requires the whole family to actually exit the car, then the challenge becomes to get the stubborn toddler back in the carseat before it is time to return for pickup.
And what happens when one child’s pickup is during another’s naptime? I know I don’t want to have to manage both a tired camper and a cranky baby in my house.
It is hard enough to entertain a seven-year-old and an eighteen-month-old in good moods. It’s not quite fair to say they don’t do the same things, because my daughter would eagerly attempt everything her brother does and then some. Unfortunately, she can’t do everything he does, and often he doesn’t want her to. So then the question becomes how to watch them both while keeping them apart.
Playdates help, but they are also harder to coordinate during the summer months. Back in my day, when school was out you could find everyone in their backyards, but now kids’ varying camp, activity, and vacation schedules make it hard to locate friends.
The summer can be especially difficult for working parents, as their working hours remain the same while their children’s schedules disappear. It can mean months of planning to arrange short-term childcare, and possibly weeks of adjustment for the children. [It is unfortunate that our school schedule has not been adjusted from its agrarian origins to meet the needs of our more industrial society. Just think what it would mean to our family lives if working hours and school hours were more compatible.]
As for taking an actual vacation, well many moms describe this as just “taking the show on the road.” For families with young children, travel means doing the same chores just with fewer resources. I’ve never gone through clothing faster than when on vacation at the beach with no washing machine and humid air that makes a mockery of the term “air dry”. Renting a house for the week? Bring your own towels and sheets, cook and clean up after your meals, vacuum before you leave – when exactly is the relaxing part? And as for entertaining the kids? Well, I used to marvel at how many toys parents would pack just for a weekend visit. Now I find myself in the same boat (or should I say, very crowded car).
Don’t get me wrong, I like summer fun in the sun as much as the next guy….ok, no, I really don’t. My hair is frizzy, my nail polish is forever chipped, and my skin is sweaty. I don’t like to wear a swimsuit in public, to obsessively stalk my children with sunblock, or to feel the sand between my toes (or on my kids, or in my car). I find myself tracking the 69 days until the first day of school just as eagerly as my son counted down the 180 days of the school year. I guess I’m just a summer Scrooge.
But then, as my children and I chase fireflies in our flip-flops one balmy evening, I hear the sound of the ice cream truck and run to track down my wallet before it passes. Ahhhhh, summer!
Graduation Inspiration
It’s the time of year for graduations, and as a recent college graduation attendee (but distant college grad), I listened with envy at commencement speeches filled with optimistic advice to “dream big” and “reach high” delivered to an audience of blank slates (and I mean that in the best way) who saw only possibilities ahead.
Even in this recession, the newly-minted graduates were encouraged to pursue their passions regardless of practicality (as in “Do what you love and the money will follow.”). All the hopes and challenges of the future were placed squarely on their shoulders, and they seemed eager and willing to take it all on.
Even I, a forty-something mother of two, began to feel like a fresh-faced graduate with dozens of doors open in front of me. I came home recharged, ready to finally conquer my “to do if only…” list and pave my own road to glory. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before I sunk back into my daily routine, unable to find the time to take even one proactive step towards dream fulfillment.
My memories of the commencement speeches returned and with them the envy of the new beginning that comes with school’s end. As adults, it becomes so easy to lose the energy of possibility. We are rarely the audience for inspiring lectures that recognize our hidden potential. We are rarely encouraged to take chances, to venture into unchartered waters, to risk failure.
Instead so many of us who were fearless as young adults become resistant to change. We may believe our paths are etched in stone leaving us no choice but to continue moving (or standing still) on the same track.
True, there are responsibilities and a need for stability that decrease our perceived options, especially once we become parents. But how many of us limit ourselves with our own fears? How many of us have built a wall of insecurities, unrealistic expectations, and perfectionism that prevents us from forging ahead?
I know I have. And I want to break free. So I went online and sought renewed inspiration from commencement speeches of years gone by.
I nodded my head at the insights actor Bradley Whitford shared with University of Wisconsin graduates in 2004: “We all go through life bristling at our external limitations, but the most difficult chains to break are inside us…. You have a choice. You can either be a passive victim of circumstance or you can be the active hero of your own life….”
I considered the suggestion that movie producer Jerry Zucker made at that same school the year prior: “Ask yourself one question: If I didn't have to do it perfectly, what would I try? For many of you, the biggest obstacle to getting there will be a fear that you have carried with you since childhood — the fear of humiliation, of embarrassment, of ridicule….” I contemplated the words he passed on from John Travolta who told him, “…nobody else is paying as much attention to your failures as you are. You're the only ones who are obsessed with the importance of your own life. To everyone else, it's just a blip on the radar screen, so just move on.”
Knowing that I am just as troubled by the fear of success as I am the fear of failure (“If it works, what will I do? How will I balance it all? What will have to be sacrificed?”), I let myself be shaken up by the words of Steven Jobs from his 2005 speech at Stanford University: “Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose…. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life….Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become.”
And as for the eternal quest for happiness, I smiled when I read what psychology professor Marc S. Lewis said to the graduates of the University of Texas Austin in 2000: “The way to be happy is to like yourself and the way to like yourself is to do only things that make you proud.”
So congratulations to all the graduates out there, be it from high school, college, middle school, elementary school, or even pre-school. Your energy, optimism, risk-taking, and good deeds can be inspiring to us all.
Even in this recession, the newly-minted graduates were encouraged to pursue their passions regardless of practicality (as in “Do what you love and the money will follow.”). All the hopes and challenges of the future were placed squarely on their shoulders, and they seemed eager and willing to take it all on.
Even I, a forty-something mother of two, began to feel like a fresh-faced graduate with dozens of doors open in front of me. I came home recharged, ready to finally conquer my “to do if only…” list and pave my own road to glory. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before I sunk back into my daily routine, unable to find the time to take even one proactive step towards dream fulfillment.
My memories of the commencement speeches returned and with them the envy of the new beginning that comes with school’s end. As adults, it becomes so easy to lose the energy of possibility. We are rarely the audience for inspiring lectures that recognize our hidden potential. We are rarely encouraged to take chances, to venture into unchartered waters, to risk failure.
Instead so many of us who were fearless as young adults become resistant to change. We may believe our paths are etched in stone leaving us no choice but to continue moving (or standing still) on the same track.
True, there are responsibilities and a need for stability that decrease our perceived options, especially once we become parents. But how many of us limit ourselves with our own fears? How many of us have built a wall of insecurities, unrealistic expectations, and perfectionism that prevents us from forging ahead?
I know I have. And I want to break free. So I went online and sought renewed inspiration from commencement speeches of years gone by.
I nodded my head at the insights actor Bradley Whitford shared with University of Wisconsin graduates in 2004: “We all go through life bristling at our external limitations, but the most difficult chains to break are inside us…. You have a choice. You can either be a passive victim of circumstance or you can be the active hero of your own life….”
I considered the suggestion that movie producer Jerry Zucker made at that same school the year prior: “Ask yourself one question: If I didn't have to do it perfectly, what would I try? For many of you, the biggest obstacle to getting there will be a fear that you have carried with you since childhood — the fear of humiliation, of embarrassment, of ridicule….” I contemplated the words he passed on from John Travolta who told him, “…nobody else is paying as much attention to your failures as you are. You're the only ones who are obsessed with the importance of your own life. To everyone else, it's just a blip on the radar screen, so just move on.”
Knowing that I am just as troubled by the fear of success as I am the fear of failure (“If it works, what will I do? How will I balance it all? What will have to be sacrificed?”), I let myself be shaken up by the words of Steven Jobs from his 2005 speech at Stanford University: “Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose…. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life….Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become.”
And as for the eternal quest for happiness, I smiled when I read what psychology professor Marc S. Lewis said to the graduates of the University of Texas Austin in 2000: “The way to be happy is to like yourself and the way to like yourself is to do only things that make you proud.”
So congratulations to all the graduates out there, be it from high school, college, middle school, elementary school, or even pre-school. Your energy, optimism, risk-taking, and good deeds can be inspiring to us all.
Mother's Day Off
Every year, when my husband asks, “What do you want for Mother’s Day?” I say, “Take the kids to your mother’s,” but I don’t think he believes me, and so I get the usual flowers and a dinner, which sometimes I get to host (yippee!).
But this year, he listened! He took the kids to his mother’s and I had one glorious day all alone. Best Mother’s Day Ever.
When I first learned my dream was going to become a reality, I cheered! And then I felt guilty (ah, that ever-present mom guilt). I should be with my family on Mother’s Day right? They were getting together with aunts, uncles, and cousins – wouldn’t it be awful for me to miss that? Then I came to my senses. Better to be at home enjoying some time to myself than sitting at a barbeque complaining about how I never get any time to myself.
I also planned the rest of the weekend so that I could get the benefits of being treated well by my family while they were around to treat me. I even wrote down my expectations and shared them with my husband and children ahead of time to avoid the disappointment of past years when I have left it up to them to read my mind. So I got time off and dinner out on Saturday, and breakfast out on Sunday morning before they left me for the whole day! (Did I mention that already?)
“No breakfast in bed?” you may ask. Well, we tried that last year. I got a wonderful breakfast– a tower of pancakes and bacon and coffee. But it was delivered at 6 am by the husband and son who I had heard fighting in the kitchen since about 5:15. If I’m not sleeping in, I’d rather go out.
The Mother’s Day breakfast also served to relieve my lingering guilt. I got to celebrate Mother’s Day with my family, but there is nothing like a restaurant meal with young children to get you ready for some alone time.
After breakfast, the family departed and I was happily home alone. I didn’t want a spa day or a vacation or a day at the movies. I wanted a day alone at home so I could actually finish at least one of my endless unfinished projects.
Although I’ll admit it was tempting to spend the day vegging out in the family room. When else would I have complete control over the computer, television, DVD player, DVR, and Wii? I was probably the only person hoping for bad weather so that I didn’t have to fit “basking in the sun with a book” into my schedule too.
But I had promised myself to be productive, so I cranked up the stereo and got to work as my iPod shuffled through my entire iTunes library. I was motivated by the surprising mix of music, from classic rock to energizing dance tunes, and even children’s music. I may have skipped past Elmo, but I’ll admit to grooving to Laurie Berkner and They Might Be Giants like a preschooler.
And so I actually spent my Mother’s Day doing a lot of work, but I didn’t mind it one bit. Yes, I vacuumed, but then the floor stayed clean! I cooked, but just what I wanted, no chicken fingers or fish sticks! Nothing got burned as I ran out to pull back a wandering toddler or change a diaper! And I got to eat too! The whole meal, while it was still hot, with nobody picking at my plate! I did dishes, but just once. Just once, I said, all day! I did laundry, but I got the clothes out of the dryer on the same day unwrinkled! And I put them away without my daughter simultaneously taking them back out! And for the first time in years, I completed a major project in one day, transforming my living room with new drapes. Ah, life uninterrupted.
I did have a few passing worries during the day, like “Did they get to grandma’s safely?”; “Did she get her nap?”; “Is he behaving well?” ; “Should I really be on top of a ladder with power tools when there is nobody home?” ; “Can the neighbors see me dancing?”; “Am I a little too happy about this day?” But everything worked out just fine.
When the day ended, I wasn’t relaxed or coiffed or pedicured, I was exhausted from all the tasks I had finally completed. Or maybe it was the dancing.
But this year, he listened! He took the kids to his mother’s and I had one glorious day all alone. Best Mother’s Day Ever.
When I first learned my dream was going to become a reality, I cheered! And then I felt guilty (ah, that ever-present mom guilt). I should be with my family on Mother’s Day right? They were getting together with aunts, uncles, and cousins – wouldn’t it be awful for me to miss that? Then I came to my senses. Better to be at home enjoying some time to myself than sitting at a barbeque complaining about how I never get any time to myself.
I also planned the rest of the weekend so that I could get the benefits of being treated well by my family while they were around to treat me. I even wrote down my expectations and shared them with my husband and children ahead of time to avoid the disappointment of past years when I have left it up to them to read my mind. So I got time off and dinner out on Saturday, and breakfast out on Sunday morning before they left me for the whole day! (Did I mention that already?)
“No breakfast in bed?” you may ask. Well, we tried that last year. I got a wonderful breakfast– a tower of pancakes and bacon and coffee. But it was delivered at 6 am by the husband and son who I had heard fighting in the kitchen since about 5:15. If I’m not sleeping in, I’d rather go out.
The Mother’s Day breakfast also served to relieve my lingering guilt. I got to celebrate Mother’s Day with my family, but there is nothing like a restaurant meal with young children to get you ready for some alone time.
After breakfast, the family departed and I was happily home alone. I didn’t want a spa day or a vacation or a day at the movies. I wanted a day alone at home so I could actually finish at least one of my endless unfinished projects.
Although I’ll admit it was tempting to spend the day vegging out in the family room. When else would I have complete control over the computer, television, DVD player, DVR, and Wii? I was probably the only person hoping for bad weather so that I didn’t have to fit “basking in the sun with a book” into my schedule too.
But I had promised myself to be productive, so I cranked up the stereo and got to work as my iPod shuffled through my entire iTunes library. I was motivated by the surprising mix of music, from classic rock to energizing dance tunes, and even children’s music. I may have skipped past Elmo, but I’ll admit to grooving to Laurie Berkner and They Might Be Giants like a preschooler.
And so I actually spent my Mother’s Day doing a lot of work, but I didn’t mind it one bit. Yes, I vacuumed, but then the floor stayed clean! I cooked, but just what I wanted, no chicken fingers or fish sticks! Nothing got burned as I ran out to pull back a wandering toddler or change a diaper! And I got to eat too! The whole meal, while it was still hot, with nobody picking at my plate! I did dishes, but just once. Just once, I said, all day! I did laundry, but I got the clothes out of the dryer on the same day unwrinkled! And I put them away without my daughter simultaneously taking them back out! And for the first time in years, I completed a major project in one day, transforming my living room with new drapes. Ah, life uninterrupted.
I did have a few passing worries during the day, like “Did they get to grandma’s safely?”; “Did she get her nap?”; “Is he behaving well?” ; “Should I really be on top of a ladder with power tools when there is nobody home?” ; “Can the neighbors see me dancing?”; “Am I a little too happy about this day?” But everything worked out just fine.
When the day ended, I wasn’t relaxed or coiffed or pedicured, I was exhausted from all the tasks I had finally completed. Or maybe it was the dancing.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Who Are You?
Lately I’ve been finding out interesting facts about the people in my life. Some are people I have just recently met, some are neighbors I have lived near for a decade, some are family members I have known my whole life. All have surprised me with new information about their relationships, hobbies, careers, and experiences. A scuba diver, a talent scout, a collector, an art lover, a dancer, a singer, a survivor. Who would have guessed?
It seems strange that you can know someone without really knowing anything about them, but I guess it’s really not that surprising.
When we are kids in school, we can’t hide much of anything. We spend the majority of our time in close quarters with other kids where our strengths are obvious (math whiz, fast runner, funniest, best singer), and our weaknesses are too (slow reader, badly behaved, last one picked for the team). We tell stories of our families and experiences in writing assignments like “All About Me” pages and weekly journals. We share our favorite items in show and tell. Our interests are broadcast through our participation in various activities in and after school. And any embarrassing facts eventually get revealed by older siblings or bullies or our best friends when they are mad at us.
But once we have grown up and away from the school system, our interests and abilities become less obvious. We focus our energies on building careers and families, and these paths limit the self we show to the world. There isn’t the same array of activities in which we can participate on a casual level. Some athletes may find an occasional pickup basketball game or play softball on their company team, and a few musicians may be able to perform in a local group if they look hard enough. But the primary limitation is time.
Looking back, even those of us with the busiest childhoods can probably now recognize the unappreciated luxury inherent in those days filled with just school and activities all for ourselves. Now with jobs and families to balance, our own interests often have to wait. We befriend those who work in our field or whose children are in class with ours. We keep conversations superficial, censoring ourselves in order not to offend, and spend our time on the sidelines discussing local issues and school schedules, not our dreams and long-hidden talents.
Those of us who gave up careers to stay home with our children can attest to how this choice also serves to narrow our identity. We may have been well-known in our industry, featured as key note speakers, and a favorite to work with, but at the park, we’re just another parent, nothing serving to distinguish us from the others except our physical features.
I remember after leaving the corporate world to stay home with my son, whenever I was asked, “what do you do?” I always started with, “Well, I worked for twelve years as an advertising executive in New York.…” Even though I had become a mom and was also a graduate student, I reverted back to my old title rather than mention my new role. My career had defined me for so long and it brought with it greater stature and more exciting conversation starters than motherhood, and for a long time, it was an identity I couldn’t bear to lose.
Of course, sometimes we want to leave our childhood behind and forge a new identity without being encumbered by the reputations and cliques of our past. Having returned to my hometown, I sometimes cringe when I run into past classmates, finding it difficult to completely erase any bad high school memories while also hoping they don’t have similar memories about me. On the plus side, I am fortunate to have some dear old friends nearby who know me better than anyone, but there is no guarantee that they will keep my secrets!
It was during a gathering with friends old and new that I first began to consider how much of our true selves disappears in our adulthood. When I realized the newer acquaintances had no knowledge of what I would consider the defining talent of my childhood friend, I wondered what we didn’t know about them. But I didn’t ask.
Imagine what I may have learned if I had.
It seems strange that you can know someone without really knowing anything about them, but I guess it’s really not that surprising.
When we are kids in school, we can’t hide much of anything. We spend the majority of our time in close quarters with other kids where our strengths are obvious (math whiz, fast runner, funniest, best singer), and our weaknesses are too (slow reader, badly behaved, last one picked for the team). We tell stories of our families and experiences in writing assignments like “All About Me” pages and weekly journals. We share our favorite items in show and tell. Our interests are broadcast through our participation in various activities in and after school. And any embarrassing facts eventually get revealed by older siblings or bullies or our best friends when they are mad at us.
But once we have grown up and away from the school system, our interests and abilities become less obvious. We focus our energies on building careers and families, and these paths limit the self we show to the world. There isn’t the same array of activities in which we can participate on a casual level. Some athletes may find an occasional pickup basketball game or play softball on their company team, and a few musicians may be able to perform in a local group if they look hard enough. But the primary limitation is time.
Looking back, even those of us with the busiest childhoods can probably now recognize the unappreciated luxury inherent in those days filled with just school and activities all for ourselves. Now with jobs and families to balance, our own interests often have to wait. We befriend those who work in our field or whose children are in class with ours. We keep conversations superficial, censoring ourselves in order not to offend, and spend our time on the sidelines discussing local issues and school schedules, not our dreams and long-hidden talents.
Those of us who gave up careers to stay home with our children can attest to how this choice also serves to narrow our identity. We may have been well-known in our industry, featured as key note speakers, and a favorite to work with, but at the park, we’re just another parent, nothing serving to distinguish us from the others except our physical features.
I remember after leaving the corporate world to stay home with my son, whenever I was asked, “what do you do?” I always started with, “Well, I worked for twelve years as an advertising executive in New York.…” Even though I had become a mom and was also a graduate student, I reverted back to my old title rather than mention my new role. My career had defined me for so long and it brought with it greater stature and more exciting conversation starters than motherhood, and for a long time, it was an identity I couldn’t bear to lose.
Of course, sometimes we want to leave our childhood behind and forge a new identity without being encumbered by the reputations and cliques of our past. Having returned to my hometown, I sometimes cringe when I run into past classmates, finding it difficult to completely erase any bad high school memories while also hoping they don’t have similar memories about me. On the plus side, I am fortunate to have some dear old friends nearby who know me better than anyone, but there is no guarantee that they will keep my secrets!
It was during a gathering with friends old and new that I first began to consider how much of our true selves disappears in our adulthood. When I realized the newer acquaintances had no knowledge of what I would consider the defining talent of my childhood friend, I wondered what we didn’t know about them. But I didn’t ask.
Imagine what I may have learned if I had.
Spring Fever
I love this time of year. After the snow of January and February, and the freaky storms in March, isn’t everyone ready to ditch the heavy coats, revel in the sunshine, and inhale the perfume of the blooming daffodils and hyacinths?
It starts with the crocuses. We have a fun time seeking them out in our yard after a landscaping job a few years ago redistributed all the bulbs to new locations, so it is a surprise when they pop up. It doesn’t necessarily make sense to see these spring harbingers in the middle of the lawn, but it still makes me smile.
Such disorganization in my yard I can handle, but inside my house it’s another story. I am desperately seeking order, even though it is impossible to maintain for more than a day with the crazy family that lives in there. The constant accumulation of stuff makes cleaning countertops, desktops, closets, bookshelves, and drawers an unending job. But spring brings a chance for renewal extending far beyond nature. Spring cleaning begins in earnest, and with it comes renewed hope for a clutter-free life.
I, for one, have been in a cleaning and organizing mode for weeks now, but unfortunately, with a toddler around, there isn’t much time for actual cleaning or organizing. So instead, I often feel dirty and unorganized as I try to work, play, dress, or eat amongst the many half-started projects scattered around the house. Bags of clothing are everywhere and I pray my toddler doesn’t decide to play her favorite game of “empty the bag” with them, because despite the appearance, they are actually sorted to some extent. Photos and empty frames pile up on tables in various combinations, and I make mental notes of those I need to have enlarged, but nothing is even close to being ready for hanging.
Though my efforts are sporadic, I am spurred on by two local annual traditions: the town cleanup and the Boy Scout tag sale (warning, unsolicited promotion coming). Every year I look forward to these events, which provide us the opportunity to clean house of both worthless and useful items. When something breaks, I enjoy the knowledge that though I will shove it in the basement for a while, there is actually a time when it will be removed from my home. When an item outlives its usefulness for us, I am glad that we can pass it on to another owner while also helping to fund a great organization.
Of course, these events also provide me with deadlines, which can be as stressful as they are helpful. No matter how much notice we have about the cleanup, it seems we always wait until the last minute to get our things out to the curb. Some of that is to avoid the inevitable rebounding of items back into the garage when our son sees them heading for the dump, but the rest is just procrastination. Even though we vow to prepare early, it’s always late on the night before pickup, after the kids are finally asleep, that my husband and I run down to the basement and frantically try to identify all those things we tossed down there over the prior year, including the three or four items we invariably forgot to put out last year. We lug and lift and drag and roll out whatever we can under cover of darkness, probably causing the neighbors to wonder what kind of animals have taken refuge in their yards. And never fail, after the truck passes, we find another three or four items that should have gone.
Getting my goods to the Scout cabin on the right day at the right time has been a challenge in the past too, but this year I’ve decided I will try to live by the Scout motto and “be prepared”. I’m putting things into the car as I find them, so that I can deliver them whenever I am in the neighborhood. This is turning out to be a good strategy for me in general. It seems I am much more likely to happen by somewhere than to actually plan to go there. So now when I have donations to make, borrowed items to return, checks to deposit, or coupons to redeem, I put them right in my car so they are ready when I am.
Besides, moving the mess to the car gives me the illusion of organization at home. At least for a moment.
It starts with the crocuses. We have a fun time seeking them out in our yard after a landscaping job a few years ago redistributed all the bulbs to new locations, so it is a surprise when they pop up. It doesn’t necessarily make sense to see these spring harbingers in the middle of the lawn, but it still makes me smile.
Such disorganization in my yard I can handle, but inside my house it’s another story. I am desperately seeking order, even though it is impossible to maintain for more than a day with the crazy family that lives in there. The constant accumulation of stuff makes cleaning countertops, desktops, closets, bookshelves, and drawers an unending job. But spring brings a chance for renewal extending far beyond nature. Spring cleaning begins in earnest, and with it comes renewed hope for a clutter-free life.
I, for one, have been in a cleaning and organizing mode for weeks now, but unfortunately, with a toddler around, there isn’t much time for actual cleaning or organizing. So instead, I often feel dirty and unorganized as I try to work, play, dress, or eat amongst the many half-started projects scattered around the house. Bags of clothing are everywhere and I pray my toddler doesn’t decide to play her favorite game of “empty the bag” with them, because despite the appearance, they are actually sorted to some extent. Photos and empty frames pile up on tables in various combinations, and I make mental notes of those I need to have enlarged, but nothing is even close to being ready for hanging.
Though my efforts are sporadic, I am spurred on by two local annual traditions: the town cleanup and the Boy Scout tag sale (warning, unsolicited promotion coming). Every year I look forward to these events, which provide us the opportunity to clean house of both worthless and useful items. When something breaks, I enjoy the knowledge that though I will shove it in the basement for a while, there is actually a time when it will be removed from my home. When an item outlives its usefulness for us, I am glad that we can pass it on to another owner while also helping to fund a great organization.
Of course, these events also provide me with deadlines, which can be as stressful as they are helpful. No matter how much notice we have about the cleanup, it seems we always wait until the last minute to get our things out to the curb. Some of that is to avoid the inevitable rebounding of items back into the garage when our son sees them heading for the dump, but the rest is just procrastination. Even though we vow to prepare early, it’s always late on the night before pickup, after the kids are finally asleep, that my husband and I run down to the basement and frantically try to identify all those things we tossed down there over the prior year, including the three or four items we invariably forgot to put out last year. We lug and lift and drag and roll out whatever we can under cover of darkness, probably causing the neighbors to wonder what kind of animals have taken refuge in their yards. And never fail, after the truck passes, we find another three or four items that should have gone.
Getting my goods to the Scout cabin on the right day at the right time has been a challenge in the past too, but this year I’ve decided I will try to live by the Scout motto and “be prepared”. I’m putting things into the car as I find them, so that I can deliver them whenever I am in the neighborhood. This is turning out to be a good strategy for me in general. It seems I am much more likely to happen by somewhere than to actually plan to go there. So now when I have donations to make, borrowed items to return, checks to deposit, or coupons to redeem, I put them right in my car so they are ready when I am.
Besides, moving the mess to the car gives me the illusion of organization at home. At least for a moment.
Girl Power
For most of my life, I’ve gotten along better with men than women. Even though I have four sisters, I always felt more comfortable hanging out with the boys than giggling with the girls. During my elementary school years when the rest of the kids feared they would catch cooties if they intermingled with the opposite gender, I was spending weekends and summers playing kickball and Marco Polo with the neighborhood boys.
While I’ve always had female friends as well, the year we changed from co-ed birthday parties to single-sex sleepovers was a tough transition for me. I quit cheerleading in high school to join the band with my guy friends, and never belonged to a sorority in college. After graduation, I twice opted to rent apartments with male friends (and loved it) before finally living on my own.
So, years later, when I learned I was going to have a baby boy, I was ready, excited even. “I can do this,” I thought. “I love boys!”
And so far, it’s been great. I love that my son will play with anybody, isn’t picky about his clothing (well, once we established no buttons, zippers, or snaps), doesn’t get tangles in his hair, and only needs 2 pairs of shoes in any given season. I love that he’ll put on a temporary tattoo and never scrub it off even when just specks of ink remain.
Last year I had a baby girl, and I was a little worried at first. “I’m not a girly-girl,” I’d tell friends. “I don’t know how to raise a girl. I can’t cook or decorate. I’m not into fashion, or makeup, or hair. I don’t want to go to the American Girl café!” (I know, I’m stereotyping to the extreme, but my tendency towards self-doubt combined with pregnancy hormones led me down that path.)
My sister used to tell me that my tendency towards male friendships was going to need to change when I became an adult. I didn’t really understand. During my single years, I was part of a broad group of male and female colleagues who worked and partied together. Why couldn’t that just continue on?
But now I do understand. As a suburban mother, I’ve found it much harder to pal with the guys. It’s not just the obvious concerns of jealousy or inappropriate attention that separate us, but our disparate lifestyles. While I am lucky enough to have maintained some of my friendships with the former boys, now men, of my past, my position as mom brings me much more in contact with their wives, and new acquaintances are almost exclusively female – other moms, nannies, teachers and many of my fellow therapists. There is an occasional man in the mix, but not many.
Note, this is just an observation, not a complaint. I wish I was better at connecting with other women, because they are my compatriots. Women support each other with a sympathetic shoulder and an empathetic ear. They create opportunities for escape with babysitting coops, girls’ nights, book groups, and bunco. They bring you chicken soup when you’re sick, or better yet, offer carpools and sleepovers because they know when mom is sick, nothing can get done (and moms won’t stop unless they are forced to).
And I’ve learned something else recently. Namely, boys are gross. My son is now in first grade, which seems to be a high point for toilet humor. Words like “fart” and “poop” and even “toilet” send him into hysterics, and he will chant made-up verses with these words over and over.
He is messy and dirty, and does not understand the need for baths, toothbrushes, or combs, which apparently goes with the territory. One day he decided to cut (i.e. butcher) his own hair. I was mortified and called the teacher to explain why he looked so disheveled, but she hadn’t even noticed. His hair, with tufts sticking out here there and everywhere, matched the rest of the boys.
And his energy could fuel a small country. He has two speeds, fast and faster, and speaks at two levels, loud and louder. There is no longer any silence in my home until after bedtime.
I adore my son, but he doesn’t seem like the boys of my past, and I have changed too. Now I can’t wait for bright pink manicures and tea parties, ballet recitals, and yes, even trips to the American Girl café. I guess I’m growing up.
While I’ve always had female friends as well, the year we changed from co-ed birthday parties to single-sex sleepovers was a tough transition for me. I quit cheerleading in high school to join the band with my guy friends, and never belonged to a sorority in college. After graduation, I twice opted to rent apartments with male friends (and loved it) before finally living on my own.
So, years later, when I learned I was going to have a baby boy, I was ready, excited even. “I can do this,” I thought. “I love boys!”
And so far, it’s been great. I love that my son will play with anybody, isn’t picky about his clothing (well, once we established no buttons, zippers, or snaps), doesn’t get tangles in his hair, and only needs 2 pairs of shoes in any given season. I love that he’ll put on a temporary tattoo and never scrub it off even when just specks of ink remain.
Last year I had a baby girl, and I was a little worried at first. “I’m not a girly-girl,” I’d tell friends. “I don’t know how to raise a girl. I can’t cook or decorate. I’m not into fashion, or makeup, or hair. I don’t want to go to the American Girl café!” (I know, I’m stereotyping to the extreme, but my tendency towards self-doubt combined with pregnancy hormones led me down that path.)
My sister used to tell me that my tendency towards male friendships was going to need to change when I became an adult. I didn’t really understand. During my single years, I was part of a broad group of male and female colleagues who worked and partied together. Why couldn’t that just continue on?
But now I do understand. As a suburban mother, I’ve found it much harder to pal with the guys. It’s not just the obvious concerns of jealousy or inappropriate attention that separate us, but our disparate lifestyles. While I am lucky enough to have maintained some of my friendships with the former boys, now men, of my past, my position as mom brings me much more in contact with their wives, and new acquaintances are almost exclusively female – other moms, nannies, teachers and many of my fellow therapists. There is an occasional man in the mix, but not many.
Note, this is just an observation, not a complaint. I wish I was better at connecting with other women, because they are my compatriots. Women support each other with a sympathetic shoulder and an empathetic ear. They create opportunities for escape with babysitting coops, girls’ nights, book groups, and bunco. They bring you chicken soup when you’re sick, or better yet, offer carpools and sleepovers because they know when mom is sick, nothing can get done (and moms won’t stop unless they are forced to).
And I’ve learned something else recently. Namely, boys are gross. My son is now in first grade, which seems to be a high point for toilet humor. Words like “fart” and “poop” and even “toilet” send him into hysterics, and he will chant made-up verses with these words over and over.
He is messy and dirty, and does not understand the need for baths, toothbrushes, or combs, which apparently goes with the territory. One day he decided to cut (i.e. butcher) his own hair. I was mortified and called the teacher to explain why he looked so disheveled, but she hadn’t even noticed. His hair, with tufts sticking out here there and everywhere, matched the rest of the boys.
And his energy could fuel a small country. He has two speeds, fast and faster, and speaks at two levels, loud and louder. There is no longer any silence in my home until after bedtime.
I adore my son, but he doesn’t seem like the boys of my past, and I have changed too. Now I can’t wait for bright pink manicures and tea parties, ballet recitals, and yes, even trips to the American Girl café. I guess I’m growing up.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Take My Identity, Please
My computer, a PC, crashed yet again last week, and as usual I called a computer-savvy friend for help. His first response was, as usual, “Get a Mac.”, but he came over anyway, as usual, to take a look. While he was entering yet another one of my passwords into some program or another, I remarked that he had so much knowledge of our passwords and such that if he were ever down and out, he could always steal my identity and empty my bank account. His reply, “I’d rather steal your identity and buy you a Mac. Then I would give your identity back.”
That got me thinking – not about PC’s versus Macs (I won’t fight that battle here) – but about the concept of altruistic identity theft. Nowadays we hear so much about how to protect ourselves from real identity theft with secure websites, clever passwords, document shredders, etc. But what if you could obtain control of someone’s accounts and get them in order, pay their bills on time, consolidate their debts?
How many times have you wished you could take over someone’s life just for a short time to make that hard but right decision for them (“Break up with him!”; “Quit that job!”; “Stand up for yourself!”) or get them through that tough battle (“I wish I could take the suffering away….”)? Come to think of it, I can think of a few times I wish someone could have taken over for me.
Maybe that’s why I loved that 90’s television show Quantum Leap in which Scott Bakula’s character would “leap” across time into somebody’s life just when they were about to experience a crisis or reach a life-changing turning point. He would have to figure out what step to take so that their life would proceed in a positive way, rather than the negative result history had already recorded. In the show, the featured characters got a second chance, but with altruistic identity theft, you wouldn’t need one.
Imagine if you were struggling with a parenting dilemma. Rather than having to be patient and persistent, react consistently, and enforce consequences, you could call Supernanny Jo Frost in, not to teach you, but to actually become you and suffer through the enforcing of that timeout. In another example, your identity could be stolen by that other mom, mother-in-law, sibling, friend, or acquaintance that always claims to know how to do it better, and they could see what would really happen. Maybe they would get more of an education than you would, for the benefit of your future relationship.
Many of us have had those moments watching a boss or colleague tiptoeing around an issue with a client or supervisor. With altruistic identity theft, you could provide the assertiveness your colleague lacks to point out an unrealistic budget or deadline, or get them that well-deserved raise.
You could call in a handyman to finish all those half-started projects by your spouse (male or female) who’s dedicated to the do-it-yourself concept but doesn’t have the do-it-yourself skills. Or tell off the partner of the friend (male or female) with the soft heart that keeps forgiving at their own expense.
Unfortunately, altruistic identity theft would only last during the timespan of the takeover. It could not lead to permanent habit or personality change. So even if you became your child for a day and cleaned his room, you couldn’t implant organizational skills or even the desire to be clean. Bummer.
With such a temporary result, it is likely that most of the problems would resurface. We would probably have to learn to be patient, consistent, and consequence-enforcing parents if we wanted to see a change in our kids. The do-it-yourselfer would find new projects to leave half-finished, the soft-hearted friend would find another ne’er-do-well to support, the passive colleague would stress out about another tight deadline. But maybe some one-time crises could be solved.
At least my friend can rest easy. His job is done. We got a Mac.
That got me thinking – not about PC’s versus Macs (I won’t fight that battle here) – but about the concept of altruistic identity theft. Nowadays we hear so much about how to protect ourselves from real identity theft with secure websites, clever passwords, document shredders, etc. But what if you could obtain control of someone’s accounts and get them in order, pay their bills on time, consolidate their debts?
How many times have you wished you could take over someone’s life just for a short time to make that hard but right decision for them (“Break up with him!”; “Quit that job!”; “Stand up for yourself!”) or get them through that tough battle (“I wish I could take the suffering away….”)? Come to think of it, I can think of a few times I wish someone could have taken over for me.
Maybe that’s why I loved that 90’s television show Quantum Leap in which Scott Bakula’s character would “leap” across time into somebody’s life just when they were about to experience a crisis or reach a life-changing turning point. He would have to figure out what step to take so that their life would proceed in a positive way, rather than the negative result history had already recorded. In the show, the featured characters got a second chance, but with altruistic identity theft, you wouldn’t need one.
Imagine if you were struggling with a parenting dilemma. Rather than having to be patient and persistent, react consistently, and enforce consequences, you could call Supernanny Jo Frost in, not to teach you, but to actually become you and suffer through the enforcing of that timeout. In another example, your identity could be stolen by that other mom, mother-in-law, sibling, friend, or acquaintance that always claims to know how to do it better, and they could see what would really happen. Maybe they would get more of an education than you would, for the benefit of your future relationship.
Many of us have had those moments watching a boss or colleague tiptoeing around an issue with a client or supervisor. With altruistic identity theft, you could provide the assertiveness your colleague lacks to point out an unrealistic budget or deadline, or get them that well-deserved raise.
You could call in a handyman to finish all those half-started projects by your spouse (male or female) who’s dedicated to the do-it-yourself concept but doesn’t have the do-it-yourself skills. Or tell off the partner of the friend (male or female) with the soft heart that keeps forgiving at their own expense.
Unfortunately, altruistic identity theft would only last during the timespan of the takeover. It could not lead to permanent habit or personality change. So even if you became your child for a day and cleaned his room, you couldn’t implant organizational skills or even the desire to be clean. Bummer.
With such a temporary result, it is likely that most of the problems would resurface. We would probably have to learn to be patient, consistent, and consequence-enforcing parents if we wanted to see a change in our kids. The do-it-yourselfer would find new projects to leave half-finished, the soft-hearted friend would find another ne’er-do-well to support, the passive colleague would stress out about another tight deadline. But maybe some one-time crises could be solved.
At least my friend can rest easy. His job is done. We got a Mac.
No Contact
Last week, I unintentionally eavesdropped on a conversation between two 40-something women and a teenage girl. The girl was discussing plans for an upcoming trip to a less-developed country, concerned about how she would contact her parents throughout the adventure. My ears perked up when I heard one of the older women say something like, “You may not believe this but there was a time when we didn’t have cell phones and weren’t able to make contact all the time. We would have to track down a pay phone, and until then our parents just had to hope we made it to wherever we were supposed to be.”
That’s how I grew up. No cell phones, no email, no text messages. When we walked out the door, we were gone until we came back. Our parents may have jumped when the phone rang, but they didn’t spend the evening constantly checking their smartphones for messages. After-school arrangements had to be made in advance, and if things changed, our parents had to call the school to leave us a message. We carried dimes (and then quarters) in case we needed to make an emergency phone call. Now I can’t remember when I last saw a pay phone.
These days many kids have cell phones, often provided by parents who feel they can allow their children more independence if they can be reached in an emergency. But as I listened to this conversation, I got to thinking: Do cell phones actually discourage independence? Are they really serving as a kind of tether to keep us more connected? And is there an unhealthy temptation to use them as a sort of “Big Brother” device?
When my siblings and I went out, our parents had to trust we were going where we said we were. They could call ahead to friends’ houses to make sure parents were there, or drive us to the movies, but they couldn’t call our pocket an hour later and listen for the sounds of the popcorn machine in the background.
As for us kids, we had to be more self-reliant. Without mom a simple phone call away, we had to solve our own problems, find alternate resources, maybe sometimes do without. We couldn’t get advice on mixing whites and colors from our dorm laundry room or put our teacher on the line if we had a conflict. We couldn’t call mom while she was driving home from work to ask her to bring snacks over to rehearsal. If we were stranded after a game we had to find our own way home. Sure maybe it wasn’t safer, but it required some independent thought.
And what about trust? Do cell phones have a negative impact on that too?
In my work as a therapist, I can’t tell you how often cell phones get mentioned as a cause or accelerator of relationship problems. Countless clients have told stories of trust breeched by spouses looking through their call records or reading their text conversations. Would we read another person’s diary or listen in on their home phone calls as casually as we may scroll through their cell phone?
How about personal boundaries? Does the fact that we can access people all the time mean that we should have access them at any time?
Again, clients complain of partners who constantly “check up” on them by repeatedly calling their cell phones. When we call our partner’s cell phone and they don’t answer, how many of us start suspiciously questioning “Where is he?”, “Who is she with?”, or “What are they doing?”, rather than calmly thinking, “She must be busy”, “I’m glad she’s not rudely interrupting a conversation to answer the phone,” or “Oh yeah, he’s driving.” We seem to have a lot more tolerance for home answering machines than unanswered cell phones.
Maybe some of this mistrust is well-placed. Clearly cell phones can help people deceive. Instead of being chained to the kitchen by a curly cord, we can now have private unwatched conversations. Some of us may engage in more deceptive behavior like deleting call records and text messages, quieting down partying friends, or sending calls to voicemail to be dealt with later (“Sorry I missed your call, I had to turn the ringer off in the library.”) I hope that is the exception, not the norm.
My children aren’t old enough to have cell phones yet, so maybe I’m naïve, but right now I’m thinking I may just send my kids out with a quarter in their shoes.
That’s how I grew up. No cell phones, no email, no text messages. When we walked out the door, we were gone until we came back. Our parents may have jumped when the phone rang, but they didn’t spend the evening constantly checking their smartphones for messages. After-school arrangements had to be made in advance, and if things changed, our parents had to call the school to leave us a message. We carried dimes (and then quarters) in case we needed to make an emergency phone call. Now I can’t remember when I last saw a pay phone.
These days many kids have cell phones, often provided by parents who feel they can allow their children more independence if they can be reached in an emergency. But as I listened to this conversation, I got to thinking: Do cell phones actually discourage independence? Are they really serving as a kind of tether to keep us more connected? And is there an unhealthy temptation to use them as a sort of “Big Brother” device?
When my siblings and I went out, our parents had to trust we were going where we said we were. They could call ahead to friends’ houses to make sure parents were there, or drive us to the movies, but they couldn’t call our pocket an hour later and listen for the sounds of the popcorn machine in the background.
As for us kids, we had to be more self-reliant. Without mom a simple phone call away, we had to solve our own problems, find alternate resources, maybe sometimes do without. We couldn’t get advice on mixing whites and colors from our dorm laundry room or put our teacher on the line if we had a conflict. We couldn’t call mom while she was driving home from work to ask her to bring snacks over to rehearsal. If we were stranded after a game we had to find our own way home. Sure maybe it wasn’t safer, but it required some independent thought.
And what about trust? Do cell phones have a negative impact on that too?
In my work as a therapist, I can’t tell you how often cell phones get mentioned as a cause or accelerator of relationship problems. Countless clients have told stories of trust breeched by spouses looking through their call records or reading their text conversations. Would we read another person’s diary or listen in on their home phone calls as casually as we may scroll through their cell phone?
How about personal boundaries? Does the fact that we can access people all the time mean that we should have access them at any time?
Again, clients complain of partners who constantly “check up” on them by repeatedly calling their cell phones. When we call our partner’s cell phone and they don’t answer, how many of us start suspiciously questioning “Where is he?”, “Who is she with?”, or “What are they doing?”, rather than calmly thinking, “She must be busy”, “I’m glad she’s not rudely interrupting a conversation to answer the phone,” or “Oh yeah, he’s driving.” We seem to have a lot more tolerance for home answering machines than unanswered cell phones.
Maybe some of this mistrust is well-placed. Clearly cell phones can help people deceive. Instead of being chained to the kitchen by a curly cord, we can now have private unwatched conversations. Some of us may engage in more deceptive behavior like deleting call records and text messages, quieting down partying friends, or sending calls to voicemail to be dealt with later (“Sorry I missed your call, I had to turn the ringer off in the library.”) I hope that is the exception, not the norm.
My children aren’t old enough to have cell phones yet, so maybe I’m naïve, but right now I’m thinking I may just send my kids out with a quarter in their shoes.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Groundhog Day
So Groundhog Day has come and gone again.
For centuries, people have waited for Punxsutawney Phil or the like to predict the joyous onset of an early spring or the gloomy extension of winter. The custom apparently goes back to pagan times, and though I don’t believe there has been any correlation between the rodents’ predictions and meteorological reality, we still observe this odd “holiday” every year.
But thanks to the 1993 Bill Murray movie of the same name, Groundhog Day has more recently become a catchphrase describing the experience of repeating the same event over and over again. In the movie, an obnoxious news anchor finds himself reliving the same day (which happens to be Groundhog Day) again and again. Each day he is awakened at the same time by Sonny and Cher singing "I Got You Babe" on the clock radio at the inn where he is staying while covering the Punxsutawney groundhog story for his television station. He encounters the same individuals and stumbles over the same hurdles throughout the day, which is particularly frustrating for him as he detests both his news assignment and the locals.
As the mother of two young children, I can relate to the Groundhog Day experience. Often, it seems like every day follows the same routine: Wake up to the sound of children eager to start the day if not exactly to go to school, eat/dress/pack/don shoes/zip coats and trudge out “en famille” to put the eldest on the bus. Feed/change/bathe/dress/play with the baby until naptime. Cram all household chores into limited naptime. Finally sit down just in time for the wake up cries. Feed/change/play with baby until school bus returns at 3:08 pm. Son, dropping backpack, coat, shoes and socks along the way has snack/does homework/plays then returns the way he came, redressing for afternoon activity. Coats/carseats/chauffering until dinnertime, infamously known as the witching “hour” (though it lasts longer) as I prepare dinner for tiring child and hungry adults while separately feeding tiring baby. Bickering ensues. Soon Dad returns, bedtime routines are followed, then it’s time to clean up and prepare to do it all again tomorrow.
The steps are the same, the arguments are the same. Sometimes it seems that the only difference is whether the load of laundry I toss in during naptime is whites or colors.
Weekends, sick days, and vacations are no different as there are still two children to be fed, dressed, entertained, and put to bed. Even if we do manage to go away, there is no real change. It’s just “taking the show on the road” as one mom I know puts it. The same job, even harder, with fewer resources and less familiar surroundings.
The sages of Wikipedia expand the definition of "Groundhog Day" to read “going through a phenomenon over and over until one spiritually transcends it.” This reflects the evolution of the main character in the movie Groundhog Day (named Phil, like the groundhog). At first, he uses his second chances at the day to take advantage of other people, having learned his behavior has no long-term consequences. But as his second chances become third, fourth, and fifth chances, he begins to realize how his different actions affect others and eventually find the merit in kinder, more empathetic behavior. I guess I’m working on that transcendence piece now, to find the bigger good in the daily mundane.
I have heard it said that for parents the days go by very slow (except, I might add, for naptime), but the years go by very fast. And I have noticed that as the kids get older and their days become more structured, it does seem that the weeks just fly by. (I mean, I’m still working on my to-do list for Christmas!)
Maybe it’s not so bad to get the chance to do the same thing over and over— to relive the good experiences like baby belly laughs and “I love yous”, and to get to correct our mistakes, or at least try alternate approaches to overcome parenting challenges or resolve conflicts. One mom I know recently said that her children are teaching her a lot more than she is teaching them. Maybe that’s the design.
It can still be kind of boring, but it’s never truly dull.
For centuries, people have waited for Punxsutawney Phil or the like to predict the joyous onset of an early spring or the gloomy extension of winter. The custom apparently goes back to pagan times, and though I don’t believe there has been any correlation between the rodents’ predictions and meteorological reality, we still observe this odd “holiday” every year.
But thanks to the 1993 Bill Murray movie of the same name, Groundhog Day has more recently become a catchphrase describing the experience of repeating the same event over and over again. In the movie, an obnoxious news anchor finds himself reliving the same day (which happens to be Groundhog Day) again and again. Each day he is awakened at the same time by Sonny and Cher singing "I Got You Babe" on the clock radio at the inn where he is staying while covering the Punxsutawney groundhog story for his television station. He encounters the same individuals and stumbles over the same hurdles throughout the day, which is particularly frustrating for him as he detests both his news assignment and the locals.
As the mother of two young children, I can relate to the Groundhog Day experience. Often, it seems like every day follows the same routine: Wake up to the sound of children eager to start the day if not exactly to go to school, eat/dress/pack/don shoes/zip coats and trudge out “en famille” to put the eldest on the bus. Feed/change/bathe/dress/play with the baby until naptime. Cram all household chores into limited naptime. Finally sit down just in time for the wake up cries. Feed/change/play with baby until school bus returns at 3:08 pm. Son, dropping backpack, coat, shoes and socks along the way has snack/does homework/plays then returns the way he came, redressing for afternoon activity. Coats/carseats/chauffering until dinnertime, infamously known as the witching “hour” (though it lasts longer) as I prepare dinner for tiring child and hungry adults while separately feeding tiring baby. Bickering ensues. Soon Dad returns, bedtime routines are followed, then it’s time to clean up and prepare to do it all again tomorrow.
The steps are the same, the arguments are the same. Sometimes it seems that the only difference is whether the load of laundry I toss in during naptime is whites or colors.
Weekends, sick days, and vacations are no different as there are still two children to be fed, dressed, entertained, and put to bed. Even if we do manage to go away, there is no real change. It’s just “taking the show on the road” as one mom I know puts it. The same job, even harder, with fewer resources and less familiar surroundings.
The sages of Wikipedia expand the definition of "Groundhog Day" to read “going through a phenomenon over and over until one spiritually transcends it.” This reflects the evolution of the main character in the movie Groundhog Day (named Phil, like the groundhog). At first, he uses his second chances at the day to take advantage of other people, having learned his behavior has no long-term consequences. But as his second chances become third, fourth, and fifth chances, he begins to realize how his different actions affect others and eventually find the merit in kinder, more empathetic behavior. I guess I’m working on that transcendence piece now, to find the bigger good in the daily mundane.
I have heard it said that for parents the days go by very slow (except, I might add, for naptime), but the years go by very fast. And I have noticed that as the kids get older and their days become more structured, it does seem that the weeks just fly by. (I mean, I’m still working on my to-do list for Christmas!)
Maybe it’s not so bad to get the chance to do the same thing over and over— to relive the good experiences like baby belly laughs and “I love yous”, and to get to correct our mistakes, or at least try alternate approaches to overcome parenting challenges or resolve conflicts. One mom I know recently said that her children are teaching her a lot more than she is teaching them. Maybe that’s the design.
It can still be kind of boring, but it’s never truly dull.
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