In these last days running up to the Thanksgiving Holiday I've already lost count of how many times I've explained to polite, chatty fellow shoppers and tradespeople that I didn't grow up with this Holiday. That it's not something that's hugely important to us as I grew up in England and we don't celebrate it. Actually, the more that I think about it, I realize that I'm just kidding myself and it's actually a huge time for reflection and meditation in our lives. Even more than, say the New Year.
Our family recently visited Plimoth Plantation and saw a snapshot of how the English settlers and the Native People existed side-by-side. We learned that though we have a rose-colored impression of the Pilgrims and their neighbors sitting down and enjoyed a fine feast that first Thanksgiving, those facts are slightly skewed. There was much tension and distrust between the groups for a long period of time. The Pilgrims brought new strains of disease and infestations of insects with them that destroyed the ecosystems and wiped out the Native communities around them. Even the Pilgrims suffered on their journey, losing many of their group on the boats, and dying from the sickness and disease as they toiled to make a life under extremely hard circumstances. And the Native People had to adapt their way of life to co-exist with others who were very unlike them.
I've wondered, since our enlightening visit, about what made it possible for those communities to co-exist, albeit in a state of tension, and not turn to extreme violence or hatred. Alongside this I was unexpectedly reminded of one of my 'favorite' modern history stories about the trenches in the first World War. It was reported that soldiers put down their arms on Christmas Eve and met their enemies in No-Man's land, beyond the barbed wire. I understand that the men talked, mingled, even played soccer. They gave cigarettes to each other. They communicated in broken English, and sang carols together. And after this period of peace then they retreated and continued to shoot at each other as their commanders instructed. It must have been unbelievably painful for those men to attack their counterparts with whom they had just spent very possibly their own final hours.
Perhaps the reason that the Pilgrims and the Native People managed to get along to some degree, even with such suspicion and distrust, was that they had no-one telling them to destroy the other side. They were working it out for themselves, taking the resources that they had, and trying to move on. Existing under harsh conditions in their own 'no-man's land'. A place that felt barren and uncharted, and a possible hotbed of unrest or hatred between them and the people who were opposite to them in so many ways.
Recently, we made the decision to move on from our faith community and find a new church home. It was a long and painful time of decision making. The reasons are not really for discussion on this blog, but suffice to say it was not easy to make that choice. In fact, it's been extremely painful. We've discovered that when you leave your spiritual home of 11 years you don't just bounce lightheartedly to another church with a smile and a wave and begin over again. We've entered in to a place between familiarity and uncertainty where we're not sure what is going to happen.We leave behind the safety and comfort of knowing everyone and being a part of a team and a like-minded group. And there's an element of discomfort and misunderstanding from some people who don't understand or agree with our decision.
Is this a no-man's land? Maybe. It's definitely a scary place to be. It's also lonely, and exhausting as we try and break new ground and think about our next step. And there's a huge feeling of grief as we literally mourn the apparent richness and safety of what we've left behind. Mix anger, disappointment and sadness in with the grief and it's a cocktail of emotions that is exhausting to say the least. And it's something that I just can't fix, in the way that moms are supposed to do.
In our situation, as with the Pilgrims, and those soldiers of almost a century ago, something is present which I cannot dispute. Only God's grace and mercy can provide any peace in a place of desperation. As the Pilgrims broke new ground in a new land, and as the soldiers crooned Silent Night in the mire-laden farmlands of France, they had little hope in their own ability to make the situation turn out right. In the uncertainty of the future, we have to have a hope in something more. When we feel broken, we cannot lift ourselves up. Only a God who is all-seeing and all-loving can do that.
And that is one truth that I am truly thankful to know.
Nov 22, 2011
Oct 26, 2011
Ten life lessons I've learned from watching a small number of cable tv programs.
1. Cast iron cookware is the only way to get my food to taste amazing.
2. Always ask the seller to pay the closing costs when you're buying their house.
3. I may not know what to wear, but I should always try to wear an outfit rather than just clothes.
4. Couponing is a valid form of employment for people that have an addiction for dried pasta, shampoo-and-conditioner-in-one, and sloppy joe mix.
5. When my daughter buys her wedding dress she will never have to emotionally proclaim 'YES, this is the dress!'
6. Birth stories at 10am complete with video footage are not okay to watch on the tv screens in the gym. Never. Nada. No, no, no.
7. People do really have bowls of lemons in the their kitchens.
8. Weird arty people with tattoos and beards make amazing birthday cakes.
9. There can NEVER be too many episodes of Top Gear.
10. Anyone with half a brain can install drywall.Getting it up or down a stairwell is a totally different matter.
Oct 25, 2011
The Happiest Place on Earth - or the very center of Hell?!
Disney World and I both hit the big four-oh this year. My celebration was magnificently small than theirs. I didn't have key rings or bumper stickers printed for people to buy and use. And I didn't charge $80 to come to my house to celebrate.
As a kid, I never wanted to think that the Magic Kingdom was simply a stage. Tomorrow Land left me with promises of space travel as easy as getting into a car. Frontier Land captured the idyllic days of the American Adventure experience by pioneers and big dreamers as they laid the plans for a great nation. Adventure Land was a place to join intrepid explorers as they battled pirates and jungle animals. And in Fantasy Land I bathed in the reassurance that the stories of our childhood were protected by Mr Disney; flying with Peter Pan, going on a ride through the dwarf's mine, or twirling in Alice's teacups. Pure Disney Magic.
There's a place in the Park, directly between the entry to Splash Mountain and its neighbor the Runaway Mine Train, which can be described as the 'Antithesis of Happiness'. At a certain time of day, (somewhere between 12-3pm), in the glare of the summer sun, it's a place where even the saintliest saint might utter a profanity which would make Mickey's ears ring. Infants, children, adults from all over the world are trapped in a bottle neck with pretty much one pathway in and out. There's no shade. Few benches, and thousands upon thousands of strollers. This social experiment in theme park planning, I am sure, is responsible for the destruction of many family vacations and bursts the bubble of glee that supposedly envelopes the footsore and dehydrated family as they prepare to stand in line for forty more minutes to experience a ride that lasts about 50 seconds. And it's the adults who do the most complaining and shouting. I know, because I stood in that line in August. And when it hadn't moved for 30 minutes I did some complaining and shouting, tried to analyze the reasons that the line wasn't moving, and took my kids away to raise their blood sugar levels with ice creams and lemonade. After that we all felt somewhat better. But at that point I knew I was in a theme park, surrounded by plastic buildings and people wearing costumes. And they were all looking a little dated. My gleeful bubble had well and truly popped.
What changes in our perspective to take away the wonderment that we have as children when we go to somewhere like Disney? Is it the fact that we can work out 'how they do it'? Have we seen too many behind the scenes tv programs that uncover the mysteries of Disney Imagineering? Or is it simply because in this technical age of instant gratification we're still not able to manipulate the line lengths, the behavior of our children, or find the stroller that the cast member (ie Disney Employee) moved because it was raining. I tend to think that it is the latter. Our eyes are on our smart phone apps, checking the line waiting times. We're making sure we use our Fast Passes at the right time (to jump to the front of the line), and continually texting family members to make sure that we know where we all are, what we're doing, and and what's next. And it's so easy to forget why we're there, and how our little ones are looking at this holy gathering place of their childhood dreams.
My kids can't wait to go back. And I'm sure that when the Magic Kingdom and I are both two years older and two years financially richer, we'll be back to enjoy the delights of Walt's innovation and imagination. And I'll make sure that I step back into my own childhood sandals as I try and recapture that excitement I felt in 1978 with my eyes wide and expectations low.
If only the admission prices were the same as they were then...........
Aug 5, 2011
A camp-tastic summer.
As we motor through the summer, it's hard to believe that school starts in less than a month, and there are more weeks of school vacation behind us than in front. Our family has enjoyed a great balance of camps, weeks at home, and hanging out. Not being brought up with the concept of camps, I always imagined them as lengthy separation of child and parent a la the movie 'The Parent Trap'. I never knew that day camps existed in just about every shape and price bracket. And I'm thankful that we live in a town who provides fabulous parks and recreation facilities with which to make my kids exhausted.
But it's not as simple as packing your kid a lunch, snack, and a swimsuit and collecting them 6 hours later. Oh no. The Summer Camp learning curve is steep for novice parents; here are ten things that parents need to know about summer camps.
1. In order to register your child online when camp registration opens (usually March) you need to be armed with several laptops and willing volunteers to get the weeks you want. This year we saw camps fill within 7 minutes. It's the cyber equivalent to an in-line punch up when U2 tickets go on sale.
2. On the day that they take a trip to the museum, beach, aquarium, your kid becomes one of THOSE kids. The noisy, misbehaving, crazy kids that are part of a large group. The ones that you always complain about when you visit any of those places with your family. Get over it. They're allowed to be like that when they're with their camp group.
3. The horrible child from school will always be at your child's camp. And if you're really unlucky, so will their older brother. And their younger brother. And his evil twin.
4. In the course of the summer, your kids will collectively lose 3 towels, 4 water bottles, 2 and a half swimsuits, one lunch box, a sock and a pair of underpants. Yes, they WERE labeled, thank you for asking. Well maybe not the underpants - who labels those?!
5. You child won't remember the name of the counsellor they loved the most until 2 weeks after camp finishes and they wake up crying in the middle of the night because they think they will never see Sarah/Josh/Marty again.
6. There's ALWAYS a show on the last day. Parents have to arrive 30 mins early, sit on a hard seat, a bug-ridden field, or in a non air-conditioned hall. And we have to take video with our phones of our child doing a dance, running a race, or singing. Or all three. Lots and lots of video.
7. You will NEVER really know whether your child eats all the lunch or snack you send them with. The brown bag lunch was invented to make it possible for kids to pretend to eat food and then toss it away rather than put it back into a lunch box for mom to examine.
8. Camps that provide snacks can only produce ones that end in '-sicle'. Popsicle, fudgesicle, ice-creamsicle, goldfish-sicle.
9. You kid smells funny when they come home.
10. Never, NEVER, toss away the t-shirts that they acquire during the weeks of camp. It may threaten to discolor all your laundry, be day-glo green with a layer of fabric paint on top, or 9 sizes too big, but your kid will never forgive you if you dispose of them before January comes. At least you can use them to wear at the next camp so that they don't destroy their good clothes.
But look on the bright side - the likelihood of discovering that your child found their long-lost twin sister at camp is very slim. I think I'll just settle for stinky towels.
But it's not as simple as packing your kid a lunch, snack, and a swimsuit and collecting them 6 hours later. Oh no. The Summer Camp learning curve is steep for novice parents; here are ten things that parents need to know about summer camps.
1. In order to register your child online when camp registration opens (usually March) you need to be armed with several laptops and willing volunteers to get the weeks you want. This year we saw camps fill within 7 minutes. It's the cyber equivalent to an in-line punch up when U2 tickets go on sale.
2. On the day that they take a trip to the museum, beach, aquarium, your kid becomes one of THOSE kids. The noisy, misbehaving, crazy kids that are part of a large group. The ones that you always complain about when you visit any of those places with your family. Get over it. They're allowed to be like that when they're with their camp group.
3. The horrible child from school will always be at your child's camp. And if you're really unlucky, so will their older brother. And their younger brother. And his evil twin.
4. In the course of the summer, your kids will collectively lose 3 towels, 4 water bottles, 2 and a half swimsuits, one lunch box, a sock and a pair of underpants. Yes, they WERE labeled, thank you for asking. Well maybe not the underpants - who labels those?!
5. You child won't remember the name of the counsellor they loved the most until 2 weeks after camp finishes and they wake up crying in the middle of the night because they think they will never see Sarah/Josh/Marty again.
6. There's ALWAYS a show on the last day. Parents have to arrive 30 mins early, sit on a hard seat, a bug-ridden field, or in a non air-conditioned hall. And we have to take video with our phones of our child doing a dance, running a race, or singing. Or all three. Lots and lots of video.
7. You will NEVER really know whether your child eats all the lunch or snack you send them with. The brown bag lunch was invented to make it possible for kids to pretend to eat food and then toss it away rather than put it back into a lunch box for mom to examine.
8. Camps that provide snacks can only produce ones that end in '-sicle'. Popsicle, fudgesicle, ice-creamsicle, goldfish-sicle.
9. You kid smells funny when they come home.
10. Never, NEVER, toss away the t-shirts that they acquire during the weeks of camp. It may threaten to discolor all your laundry, be day-glo green with a layer of fabric paint on top, or 9 sizes too big, but your kid will never forgive you if you dispose of them before January comes. At least you can use them to wear at the next camp so that they don't destroy their good clothes.
But look on the bright side - the likelihood of discovering that your child found their long-lost twin sister at camp is very slim. I think I'll just settle for stinky towels.
Jul 21, 2011
Pipe Dreams
Earlier this year we got to visit a great museum in the UK. Once a small working Victorian pottery factory when the air was black with carcinogenic smoke and choking soot, it's now a time piece in the middle of a disappearing industrial landscape. The best part about this museum, is an exhibition totally dedicated to the history of the toilet. It's name, of course, is 'Flushed with Pride'.
From the moment you enter the corridor recreated as a medieval street (complete with fake poop in the gutter and its authentic but fake farmyard-like stench), it's a totally absorbing piece of history. At first you're grossed out, but you soon marvel at the early engineering attempts of the Victorians to make the personal hygiene process cleaner and out-of-sight. (By the way, Thomas Crapper didn't invent the flushing toilet, he developed an idea already in existence). From Queen Elizabeth's second 'throne', to musical bedpans to spare the blushes of the more prudish Edwardians, and into today's Toto Technology. There's no doubt about it - the best seat in the house is now state-of-the art and design perfect.
But although we've come a long way since the middle ages, there's still one issue that I feel needs to be addressed.
Why, oh why, is the domestic flushing toilet (and its attached pipe work) in the USA SO ineffective?!!!
It should have been apparent that there is a problem the day we emigrated to the States and checked in to our hotel. Outside several rooms we noticed strange looking packages. White carrier bags with long orange handles sticking out. Little did we know that these were plungers. Not your average drain unblock-er, but what can only be described as a super-plunger. And it wasn't long before we got to see one in action........
I used to work in the Engineering department of a large university in London. My favorite part of the department was the fluids laboratory. At one end on a platform raised about 8 feet were three toilets. Behind them were hundreds of yards of clear pipes representing a domestic pipe and drainage system. And the research staff were working on many projects such as flushable toilet roll middles and colostomy bags, whether disposable diapers could ever be flushed. And really important stuff like that. I saw some very weird substances whizzing around those pipes let me tell you. It's cutting edge research with millions of pounds changing hands. And yet, my East Coast loo still struggles with toilet paper that has the word 'soft' in it's description. The kids are used to me saying 'hey use the other bathroom because we have to unblock the downstairs loo'. And there's been more than one red-faced guest asking if we - ahem - have a toilet plunger.
I get that it's about minimizing water consumption. And I know that a lot of the houses in the Boston area are old. But part of me does wonder if it's really a ruse cooked up between the toilet makers and the plunger manufacturers. People will keep upgrading their toilets, wondering if that will solve the problems. And the super-plungers will be present in every home in the nation. And they'll split the profits equally. And maybe the drainpipe manufacturers are in on it too.
I am amazed that a great country that has put man on the moon can't quite get this right. Even spacemen don't have to plunge their lavatories. Maybe the guys at NASA could lend a hand in developing a decent loo. Now that the Shuttle program is done, I'm sure they might have a little spare time on their hands.
From the moment you enter the corridor recreated as a medieval street (complete with fake poop in the gutter and its authentic but fake farmyard-like stench), it's a totally absorbing piece of history. At first you're grossed out, but you soon marvel at the early engineering attempts of the Victorians to make the personal hygiene process cleaner and out-of-sight. (By the way, Thomas Crapper didn't invent the flushing toilet, he developed an idea already in existence). From Queen Elizabeth's second 'throne', to musical bedpans to spare the blushes of the more prudish Edwardians, and into today's Toto Technology. There's no doubt about it - the best seat in the house is now state-of-the art and design perfect.
But although we've come a long way since the middle ages, there's still one issue that I feel needs to be addressed.
Why, oh why, is the domestic flushing toilet (and its attached pipe work) in the USA SO ineffective?!!!
It should have been apparent that there is a problem the day we emigrated to the States and checked in to our hotel. Outside several rooms we noticed strange looking packages. White carrier bags with long orange handles sticking out. Little did we know that these were plungers. Not your average drain unblock-er, but what can only be described as a super-plunger. And it wasn't long before we got to see one in action........
I used to work in the Engineering department of a large university in London. My favorite part of the department was the fluids laboratory. At one end on a platform raised about 8 feet were three toilets. Behind them were hundreds of yards of clear pipes representing a domestic pipe and drainage system. And the research staff were working on many projects such as flushable toilet roll middles and colostomy bags, whether disposable diapers could ever be flushed. And really important stuff like that. I saw some very weird substances whizzing around those pipes let me tell you. It's cutting edge research with millions of pounds changing hands. And yet, my East Coast loo still struggles with toilet paper that has the word 'soft' in it's description. The kids are used to me saying 'hey use the other bathroom because we have to unblock the downstairs loo'. And there's been more than one red-faced guest asking if we - ahem - have a toilet plunger.
I get that it's about minimizing water consumption. And I know that a lot of the houses in the Boston area are old. But part of me does wonder if it's really a ruse cooked up between the toilet makers and the plunger manufacturers. People will keep upgrading their toilets, wondering if that will solve the problems. And the super-plungers will be present in every home in the nation. And they'll split the profits equally. And maybe the drainpipe manufacturers are in on it too.
I am amazed that a great country that has put man on the moon can't quite get this right. Even spacemen don't have to plunge their lavatories. Maybe the guys at NASA could lend a hand in developing a decent loo. Now that the Shuttle program is done, I'm sure they might have a little spare time on their hands.
Jul 14, 2011
Capri sun and Jesus.
I love the summer in New England. After the insanely snowy winter we just had, it's a joy to feel the heat and humidity as we walk out the door. And as the kids grow, there's some emerging certainties about our summers;
How wrong I have been.
The VBS machine is huge. There are several large Christian publishing companies designing curriculum that a church can literally take as is and put together a week of activities based on a bible theme, character, or story. There are ready-made craft kits. The music, lyric, and stories are on dvd and cd, often purpose-written to tie in with the theme and pretty good. You can buy scenery, costumes, scripts, and just about everything. And it can all be adapted to your church size, your budget, and your target audience. (Some large churches get 300-400 kids!). There's always a water day, there's a fair consumption of snacks, and the kids get to do a 'show' at the end of the week for parents and friends. And I know this because last year I entered in to the world of running a VBS-style week at our church. Exhausting. Fun. And a real awakening into the vision and value of what a week like this means to a kid and ultimately their family.
As parents who consider themselves followers of Jesus, our goal is to point our children in that faith direction. We're firm believers that it's our responsibility as parents to spiritually lead our kids. Sunday kids programing, VBS, and kid's clubs can't do that on their own. Yet, they do have an important place in the lives of our kids and our family.
I have friends who don't consider themselves to persue a Christian faith but send their kids to VBS. Their thought is 'It's free/cheap, they are kept busy and having fun with other kids, and it's not teaching them to be morally corrupt'. Totally true. But I know that in amongst the games, crafts, and singing, my kids are thinking differently. They've realized that they have peers wanting to pursue a faith journey in the same direction. They see love-in-action as volunteers willingly spend their free time with them. And when they've forgotten the more cheesy-sounding songs, and the crafts have been 'recycled', they will still remember the stories and conversations that they heard as they explored faith together. And I like that. Very much.
I'm the eye-mom, and I'm a VBS groupie.
- All previous consumption regulations about juice in a foil container become null and void.
- We'll discover at least 2 new Ben and Jerry's ice cream flavors.
- We'll lose 3 towels, 2 water bottles, one swimsuit and 3 flip flops at camps, even though they were labeled.
- We'll spend the GDP of a small African country on beach parking fees.
- The kids will attend at least 2 VBS weeks.
How wrong I have been.
The VBS machine is huge. There are several large Christian publishing companies designing curriculum that a church can literally take as is and put together a week of activities based on a bible theme, character, or story. There are ready-made craft kits. The music, lyric, and stories are on dvd and cd, often purpose-written to tie in with the theme and pretty good. You can buy scenery, costumes, scripts, and just about everything. And it can all be adapted to your church size, your budget, and your target audience. (Some large churches get 300-400 kids!). There's always a water day, there's a fair consumption of snacks, and the kids get to do a 'show' at the end of the week for parents and friends. And I know this because last year I entered in to the world of running a VBS-style week at our church. Exhausting. Fun. And a real awakening into the vision and value of what a week like this means to a kid and ultimately their family.
As parents who consider themselves followers of Jesus, our goal is to point our children in that faith direction. We're firm believers that it's our responsibility as parents to spiritually lead our kids. Sunday kids programing, VBS, and kid's clubs can't do that on their own. Yet, they do have an important place in the lives of our kids and our family.
I have friends who don't consider themselves to persue a Christian faith but send their kids to VBS. Their thought is 'It's free/cheap, they are kept busy and having fun with other kids, and it's not teaching them to be morally corrupt'. Totally true. But I know that in amongst the games, crafts, and singing, my kids are thinking differently. They've realized that they have peers wanting to pursue a faith journey in the same direction. They see love-in-action as volunteers willingly spend their free time with them. And when they've forgotten the more cheesy-sounding songs, and the crafts have been 'recycled', they will still remember the stories and conversations that they heard as they explored faith together. And I like that. Very much.
I'm the eye-mom, and I'm a VBS groupie.
Jul 13, 2011
Sink or swim.
We are very proud members of the YMCA. I love their core values,and the fact that the same staff have worked there teaching our kids since we joined five years ago. I particularly love to swim and have been doing a ton lately. I've realized that it's the same people that pretty much come in at the same times on any given days. And they make a great study on human behavior. Or in other words, it's a people-watchers dream!
Here are my favorite people:
The mom in a hurry
A former competitive swimmer, it's her one thirty minute break from her young kids twice a week. She thrashes up and down the pool, knowing that any moment one of the babysitters will appear to say that little Johnny or Jemima hasn't stopped screaming since she left the kidcare room, has vomited, and she needs to come to them immediately.
The frugal senior gentleman.
Wearing a pair of swim trunks that he bought for a cruise round the Greek Isles in 1969. Other swimmers aren't quite sure where to put their eyes and there's a notable sigh of relief echoing around the pool when he submerges his torso into the water. Note to all male swimmers; don't just assume that women need to increase their fabric to skin ratio as their bodies get older and change shape. It applies to you too.
The flopper
This swimmer is probably the weakest one in the pool. And yet because of their dying fly technique they manage to get a whole lap lane to themselves. No swimmer wants a black eye or the exhaustion of 40 minutes of aversion-swimming. That's when you have to time your push-offs and turns so that you're always going in the opposite direction. If you get stuck behind them you'll never get past unless you swim underneath them.
The Russian ladies
Pure theatre. These ladies speak very little English and sport a dazzling array of floral swimsuits, shower caps and attach every flotation device to themselves. I love watching them because they just float and talk but don't actually swim. Thankfully they use the recreation lane because I don't know how to say 'excuse me' in Russian.
The manager
Often a professional guy who could be in-between business meetings. Looks toned, has his waterproofed IPod under his swim cap and is on a timed mission to swim a mile. Yet he detests sharing a lane. Mr. Manager will negotiate with other swimmers to move over into other lanes till he gets a clear lane to himself.
The Splasher
Ahem. Guilty as charged. When a known Frugal Senior, Flopper, or Manager appears pool side, I'll get my kick board and charge down the pool making a tidal wave right behind me. Who wants to battle with that?
That's my swim buddies. Who do you see at your pool or gym?
Here are my favorite people:
The mom in a hurry
A former competitive swimmer, it's her one thirty minute break from her young kids twice a week. She thrashes up and down the pool, knowing that any moment one of the babysitters will appear to say that little Johnny or Jemima hasn't stopped screaming since she left the kidcare room, has vomited, and she needs to come to them immediately.
The frugal senior gentleman.
Wearing a pair of swim trunks that he bought for a cruise round the Greek Isles in 1969. Other swimmers aren't quite sure where to put their eyes and there's a notable sigh of relief echoing around the pool when he submerges his torso into the water. Note to all male swimmers; don't just assume that women need to increase their fabric to skin ratio as their bodies get older and change shape. It applies to you too.
The flopper
This swimmer is probably the weakest one in the pool. And yet because of their dying fly technique they manage to get a whole lap lane to themselves. No swimmer wants a black eye or the exhaustion of 40 minutes of aversion-swimming. That's when you have to time your push-offs and turns so that you're always going in the opposite direction. If you get stuck behind them you'll never get past unless you swim underneath them.
The Russian ladies
Pure theatre. These ladies speak very little English and sport a dazzling array of floral swimsuits, shower caps and attach every flotation device to themselves. I love watching them because they just float and talk but don't actually swim. Thankfully they use the recreation lane because I don't know how to say 'excuse me' in Russian.
The manager
Often a professional guy who could be in-between business meetings. Looks toned, has his waterproofed IPod under his swim cap and is on a timed mission to swim a mile. Yet he detests sharing a lane. Mr. Manager will negotiate with other swimmers to move over into other lanes till he gets a clear lane to himself.
The Splasher
Ahem. Guilty as charged. When a known Frugal Senior, Flopper, or Manager appears pool side, I'll get my kick board and charge down the pool making a tidal wave right behind me. Who wants to battle with that?
That's my swim buddies. Who do you see at your pool or gym?
Jul 12, 2011
Maybe later.
I saw a teen wearing a great t-shirt at the beach.
The top 10 reasons to procrastinate:
1.
Love it!
I didn't used to be a procrastinator. Although my school homework was usually left to the last minute. So maybe I did have a trait that was waiting to emerge. But I married a procrastinator. And I think that I caught it off him. Put that with running around after kids and my ability to evaluate what is urgent and important was last seen about 6 years ago sitting somewhere between Dr Brown and Barney. I guess I'm still in my ticking-over stage of life.
Procrastinating is seen as a bad habit. And indeed, we have personally encountered the cost of putting off tasks or commitments in ways that have made us state that things need to change. And they do for a bit. The bigger things aren't a problem - but it's the routine and mundane tasks that usually slip by the wayside.
But maybe there are some positive sides of procrastination that we've never thought about. And yes, I probably should have been doing something else whilst I was thinking about these.
1. Health benefits.
I know that the downstairs bathroom needs to be cleaned. So I'll use the upstairs one instead for the whole day - cardio training. The fully-loaded and completely clean dishwasher (my nemesis) is staring at me. So I'll wash the breakfast dishes by hand and put them straight up into the cupboards, stretching and toning as I do. And I really don't want to stand in the long line at the post office so I'll go to the gym instead and swim my usual 50 lengths. Voila - I've used up an extra 300 calories today doing anything other than THAT TASK that needs to be attended to.
2. Creativity is unleashed
I'll go and do something else instead. Look, I've repainted the basement today/vacuumed the car/alphabetized the kids books. I've put photos into frames and re-folded the towels to Macy's standards. I've discovered organizational skills I didn't know I had, and given my house a cost-free makeover. There's fresh banana bread on the counter. But still - I haven't put the trash cans out.
3. Get to know your neighbors.
Those trash cans have been rolling around on the pavement for 24 hours. I've driven past them 4 times but I always seem to have my hands full when I go in to the house, and then it's been raining. When my exasperated neighbor has put them into the driveway, it's a perfect opportunity to take some of that banana bread round. Have a chat and get to know them.
4. Encourages one to dream.
Maybe someone else will do those things instead of me.
And now please excuse me whilst I go and water the plants. Because the garden is in the opposite direction of that dishwasher. Still full. Still clean. And still my nemesis.
The top 10 reasons to procrastinate:
1.
Love it!
I didn't used to be a procrastinator. Although my school homework was usually left to the last minute. So maybe I did have a trait that was waiting to emerge. But I married a procrastinator. And I think that I caught it off him. Put that with running around after kids and my ability to evaluate what is urgent and important was last seen about 6 years ago sitting somewhere between Dr Brown and Barney. I guess I'm still in my ticking-over stage of life.
Procrastinating is seen as a bad habit. And indeed, we have personally encountered the cost of putting off tasks or commitments in ways that have made us state that things need to change. And they do for a bit. The bigger things aren't a problem - but it's the routine and mundane tasks that usually slip by the wayside.
But maybe there are some positive sides of procrastination that we've never thought about. And yes, I probably should have been doing something else whilst I was thinking about these.
1. Health benefits.
I know that the downstairs bathroom needs to be cleaned. So I'll use the upstairs one instead for the whole day - cardio training. The fully-loaded and completely clean dishwasher (my nemesis) is staring at me. So I'll wash the breakfast dishes by hand and put them straight up into the cupboards, stretching and toning as I do. And I really don't want to stand in the long line at the post office so I'll go to the gym instead and swim my usual 50 lengths. Voila - I've used up an extra 300 calories today doing anything other than THAT TASK that needs to be attended to.
2. Creativity is unleashed
I'll go and do something else instead. Look, I've repainted the basement today/vacuumed the car/alphabetized the kids books. I've put photos into frames and re-folded the towels to Macy's standards. I've discovered organizational skills I didn't know I had, and given my house a cost-free makeover. There's fresh banana bread on the counter. But still - I haven't put the trash cans out.
3. Get to know your neighbors.
Those trash cans have been rolling around on the pavement for 24 hours. I've driven past them 4 times but I always seem to have my hands full when I go in to the house, and then it's been raining. When my exasperated neighbor has put them into the driveway, it's a perfect opportunity to take some of that banana bread round. Have a chat and get to know them.
4. Encourages one to dream.
Maybe someone else will do those things instead of me.
And now please excuse me whilst I go and water the plants. Because the garden is in the opposite direction of that dishwasher. Still full. Still clean. And still my nemesis.
Jul 11, 2011
Mom vs Technology.
I am married to a very clever chap who is an engineer. By trade a microchip designer, he works for a large multi-national company. You know, the one whose commercials ring out the catchy little 5-note tune that lets you know that they are ‘inside’ the technology product you’re considering purchasing. The one that you need to buy to upgrade the one that you have already which you probably didn’t need in the first place.
Our house contains a decent amount of technology. Yet, I am happy to say, that partly due to budget constraints, and partly due to my tutting and rolling of eyes, it’s not excessive. Now compared to that of my parents who are just about grappling with a digital tv and a laptop for surfing and Skyping, our house might seem like Santa’s technology grotto. We have a couple of smart phones. And we have an ageing fruit of a desk top computer along with a laptop that’s for his work, and this shiny one that I bought with my first few pay checks last year. There’s a games console that ‘we’ as a family play on occasionally, and a couple of hand held games systems that our kids use from time to time. And that’s it. No, really.
And yet that small haul brings with it some unexpected challenges and headaches that I’m finding myself facing as a mom and spouse.
I was thinking today that my daughter is part of the first generation of i-babies. She was a preschooler when the touchscreen phone phenomenon came about and like many of her peers had no problem in instantly figuring out how to use it. And the replacing of batteries, setting of the DVR and uploading catchy tunes has been way easier to master than learning to use the potty or sharing. And her little brother is getting there too – as soon as he’s reading for himself there will be no stopping him. Here is the first issue; my kids are probably starting to think I’m stupid. I realize that I’m starting to ask daughter to help her younger brother set up the racing game on the tv because I don’t know how to. And I’m sure it’s only going to get worse. I’ve already heard ‘Mom, I can do it faster’ several times when I'm trying to set the TIVO. How can I get them to appreciate that I’m actually a smart, college educated woman who know vastly more useful things that they are also going to need to know in their lives?!
Secondly, the technology as recreation idea has made the discipline structure multi-tiered. The idea of ‘screen time’ always worked well as a generic idea. We’ve all said ‘If you do that again, you will lose your screen time for this week’. And when they are a preschooler that works well because all they want to do is watch Curious George or Charlie and Lola several times a day. But second graders are different. If you say they can’t go on the laptop they ask for the Wii. If you say no to that, they progress to the DS. And if that’s refused, the TV is the fallback. And if you decide to pull everything, does that include Friday night movie with mom and dad? If you’re not careful you can really tie yourself up in knots. I’m pretty strict with the time that they spend on any of these things but it takes a lot of clock-watching and timer setting to fully enforce it. Thankfully I have a basket that will comfortably hold every remote, phone, and DS or Leapster that I can find. It’s ready and waiting, just for the day that I really need to go to anti-tech level five. And they know that I will.
I am THAT Meany Mom who does not let her kids play with her smart phone. I hear the gasps. I deliberately have no games on it. Our 7 year old may occasionally flip through my photos, and they’ve watched a movie on it here and there whilst we’ve sat in an airport waiting for a delayed flight to leave. But they don’t need to use it to occupy themselves. I don’t hold to the argument that they are disadvantaged in any way by this. I know of ten year olds who have their very latest touch pad thingamajig which blows my mind.
Somedays I wish that I could just get rid of it all. I wish that I didn’t have five ways that people could get hold of me. I wish that I could have a verbal conversation during the day with hubby instead of texting, texting. And don’t get me started about bringing the Droid into the bedroom.
Though maybe technology isn't all bad? I could wax lyrical about my state-of-the art washing machine for - ooh - minutes if anyone wants to listen. Now about laundry doing itself. Is there ever going to be an app for that?!
Though maybe technology isn't all bad? I could wax lyrical about my state-of-the art washing machine for - ooh - minutes if anyone wants to listen. Now about laundry doing itself. Is there ever going to be an app for that?!
Jul 9, 2011
A Five Year Plan
Today I made the five-yearly pilgrimage to the Registry of Motor Vehicles to renew my license and nonchalantly pretend that the photograph on the little blue card didn’t need to be perfect. Thankfully it didn’t take too long and my five year old son and I waited and chatted for only twenty five minutes amongst the pinging bells of a hyperactive digital numbering system. Fifty dollars and a dubious looking photograph later, we went on our way to do errands.
The last time I sat in this busy government office I didn’t have a Social Security Number. I had a visa but I didn’t have my green card. But I did have the same little blond boy aged almost 8 weeks in his baby car seat. On that visit, I spent the time tackling his 2 year old sister determined to forcefully rock his vehicle of baby transport. I am somewhat glad that the dark-eyed, haggard looking 35 year old in that picture has been replaced by the face of someone who looks more like they know what they are doing. Turning forty on the day my license expired turned out to be a very good thing, in my opinion.
About five years and eight weeks ago, I looked on our now almost-second-grader as she slept peacefully as a two year old in her room. As a mom in the later stages of labor, I stroked her head and kissed her quickly before Grandma waved us out to the hospital. As I waddled down the stairs and out to our car, it hit me head on, and to the point of tears, that it wasn’t going to be just me and her anymore. Our relationship as mom and daughter, and our family dynamic, were both about to change. Three was about to become four. We welcomed our son a couple of hours later just after a beautiful spring sunrise. In the midst of that contraction-driven scramble out of the front door, I’d unknowingly experienced the end of my first era of motherhood.
There’s nothing particularly dynamic about our ‘mommy-Sam’ mornings together. We’re playing in the garden, at the park, or maybe a quick trip to the mall. Maybe we’ll go to the YMCA for a swim time together. In the midst of our errands we usually sit down to enjoy donut munchkins for him and a caffeinated drink for me. But today I know that this will be the last time that Sam and I have a ‘mommy-Sam’ day in its purest form. Tomorrow afternoon is his last session at pre-school. In September he will be attending the same educational institution as his big sister for the first time, as a bright and shiny Kindergartner. Sure, we’ll be able to take time together to do stuff, and there will be many more munchkin moments. But it won’t feel as free and easy as it does right now because I know that it will take more organizing and have to be more deliberate for us to spend time together. This time the calendar and school district regulations make it clearer to see, but here endeth the second era of my motherhood.
The renewal of one’s driving license might seem to be a legal formality which is annoying and reminds us that we’re simply five years older. For me, it provided an unexpected reflection on how powerful and intense that period of time was. The RMV isn’t aware of my struggles as a mom, the developmental concerns, the sleep issues, or the fights and disagreements these parents had as we thrashed this parenting thing out together. It doesn’t need to know about the people we loved and lost to incurable sickness during that time, or the friendships that we thought were forever but simply fizzled away. The seasons of sickness, surgeries, and rides in ambulances with injured kids aren’t on our driving records. And our disbelief as we watched the western world plunge into a financial tailspin doesn’t show up as an unpaid violation.
Yet intermingled with those deep and meaningful events have been five rich and precious years. Years of watching our kids grow from defenseless babes in arms, to power-seeking toddlers, independent preschoolers, and now world-at-their-feet elementary school students. We’ve played at the beach, built snowmen, and monitored Halloween candy consumption. We’ve nurtured friendships for the kids and ourselves, watched dance recitals and nativity plays. We’ve criss-crossed the Atlantic with our mini international travelers many times savoring vacations with our family in England. Our memories are wrapped up in the conversations and experiences we remember with these little people. They are seen in the photographs that rotate on our screen savers. They can be touched and held as crudely constructed preschool crafts sitting in the top of my closet in that slightly hard-to-reach place. The place that requires a ‘steppie stool’ to gain access to the storage box.
The last time I sat in this busy government office I didn’t have a Social Security Number. I had a visa but I didn’t have my green card. But I did have the same little blond boy aged almost 8 weeks in his baby car seat. On that visit, I spent the time tackling his 2 year old sister determined to forcefully rock his vehicle of baby transport. I am somewhat glad that the dark-eyed, haggard looking 35 year old in that picture has been replaced by the face of someone who looks more like they know what they are doing. Turning forty on the day my license expired turned out to be a very good thing, in my opinion.
About five years and eight weeks ago, I looked on our now almost-second-grader as she slept peacefully as a two year old in her room. As a mom in the later stages of labor, I stroked her head and kissed her quickly before Grandma waved us out to the hospital. As I waddled down the stairs and out to our car, it hit me head on, and to the point of tears, that it wasn’t going to be just me and her anymore. Our relationship as mom and daughter, and our family dynamic, were both about to change. Three was about to become four. We welcomed our son a couple of hours later just after a beautiful spring sunrise. In the midst of that contraction-driven scramble out of the front door, I’d unknowingly experienced the end of my first era of motherhood.
There’s nothing particularly dynamic about our ‘mommy-Sam’ mornings together. We’re playing in the garden, at the park, or maybe a quick trip to the mall. Maybe we’ll go to the YMCA for a swim time together. In the midst of our errands we usually sit down to enjoy donut munchkins for him and a caffeinated drink for me. But today I know that this will be the last time that Sam and I have a ‘mommy-Sam’ day in its purest form. Tomorrow afternoon is his last session at pre-school. In September he will be attending the same educational institution as his big sister for the first time, as a bright and shiny Kindergartner. Sure, we’ll be able to take time together to do stuff, and there will be many more munchkin moments. But it won’t feel as free and easy as it does right now because I know that it will take more organizing and have to be more deliberate for us to spend time together. This time the calendar and school district regulations make it clearer to see, but here endeth the second era of my motherhood.
The renewal of one’s driving license might seem to be a legal formality which is annoying and reminds us that we’re simply five years older. For me, it provided an unexpected reflection on how powerful and intense that period of time was. The RMV isn’t aware of my struggles as a mom, the developmental concerns, the sleep issues, or the fights and disagreements these parents had as we thrashed this parenting thing out together. It doesn’t need to know about the people we loved and lost to incurable sickness during that time, or the friendships that we thought were forever but simply fizzled away. The seasons of sickness, surgeries, and rides in ambulances with injured kids aren’t on our driving records. And our disbelief as we watched the western world plunge into a financial tailspin doesn’t show up as an unpaid violation.
Yet intermingled with those deep and meaningful events have been five rich and precious years. Years of watching our kids grow from defenseless babes in arms, to power-seeking toddlers, independent preschoolers, and now world-at-their-feet elementary school students. We’ve played at the beach, built snowmen, and monitored Halloween candy consumption. We’ve nurtured friendships for the kids and ourselves, watched dance recitals and nativity plays. We’ve criss-crossed the Atlantic with our mini international travelers many times savoring vacations with our family in England. Our memories are wrapped up in the conversations and experiences we remember with these little people. They are seen in the photographs that rotate on our screen savers. They can be touched and held as crudely constructed preschool crafts sitting in the top of my closet in that slightly hard-to-reach place. The place that requires a ‘steppie stool’ to gain access to the storage box.
Era number three will have ended when our daughter is embarking on life at her middle school. It’s going to be exciting, tiring, and no doubt a sharp learning curve for all concerned. At about that time five years from now, I’ll be renewing my driving license again. According to the RMV, this one I should be able to renew online. But I think that I’ll go and make my pilgrimage to the center. Why? Because I’d like my photograph to show the real face of a mom who has a few more years of experience under her belt. And I know that I’ll use that time of waiting for my number to be called to start reflecting again on what’s happened in our lives during the next five years.
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