It's what we do

We just finished all our holiday cards this weekend.  I'm behind on all things Christmas, and still need to bake and figure out many of the presents, so I was tempted to skip cards altogether.  But Quinn wanted to do them.

Quinn likes lists and excuses to hand write things and organizing stuff into piles, so holiday cards are right up his alley.  I decided if he really wanted to help it would be worth going to the trouble.  We talked about what to make and settled on an origami star.  YouTube showed us how to make one, and we got to folding.



In the past when we've done our little home assembly line process of putting together holiday cards I thought of it in two parts: The making of the actual cards, and then considering whom they are for and what to put inside.  It never occurred to me that the second half of that process would be done by anyone but myself, but the part that most interested Quinn was addressing envelopes.

A Matter of Size

It's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't struggled with his or her weight how difficult it can be.  I'm a pretty determined person and able to accomplish most things I set my mind to.  But getting down to a weight where I want to be and staying there?  I'm starting to think it's impossible.  Which is frustrating.

I try not to beat myself up too much about it.  I'm doing better at incorporating regular exercise into my schedule (I swim a mile in the morning about five or six days a week), and I'm trying to make better choices about what I eat.  But life gets stressful and I betray myself with decisions I know are bad but seem irresistible in the moment.  When I start to question my sanity and lack of will I think about how if Oprah with her infinite resources and all the incentive in the world to keep her weight down still struggles, then there is probably more to it than I realize and shouldn't feel like such a failure.

But does anyone who cares about me really love me less when my jeans are getting tight again?  Do I care less about anyone based on his or her size?  No.  So why do I obsess?  Why do I dislike myself so much over it?  I'm not sure, but I don't seem able to escape it.

Back toward the beginning of the school year I went through all my kids' clothes to figure out what fit them and what didn't, what should be handed down, and what should be given away.  We seldom have to shop for Mona since she is delighted to inherit whatever clothes no longer fit her sister, but each time Aden grows we end up walking down the street to Target and stocking up on some new shirts and leggings and skirts.  Easy enough.

But Aden has finally reached the limit of what the girls section at Target has to offer.  She's tall, like I am, and the biggest size girl clothes are 14/16, which are getting too short on her.  We looked around at things she liked, but realized anything we bought would likely not last the whole year.  So we had to move over to the older girl/women's area of the store.  And it wasn't good.

The Last Baby Tooth

My oldest child just turned eleven.

I still remember her as the beautiful baby she was over a decade ago.  Aden was the perfect training baby.  She was patient, seeming to forgive all our bumbling as we taught ourselves what to do as new parents.  She ate well and was sleeping through the night at about four months.  She was bald for a long time and her eyes were (are) incredibly blue.  And I don't care what any expert says about when children develop empathy because in Aden's case she was sensitive to the feelings of others from very early on.  Anytime she saw me cry she would cry too.  She's my tenderhearted girl.

Ready to decorate!

We had a sleepover party for her this past weekend that included the girls making their own pizzas for dinner, a couple of games of Aden's own invention, and our own version of Cupcake Wars.  That was fun.  We baked a gabillion mini cupcakes and set out frosting and marshmallows and fruit and sprinkles and sugar paper and modeling chocolate and then set a timer for different decorating challenges.  (One round was 'the ocean', then 'zombies', then the holiday of their choice....)  They had a five minute time limit on each round and the judges were me, Mona, Quinn, and our dog Chipper (who gave everyone a ten each time which we assumed was correct based on the level of tail wagging he exhibited when we held him up to look at the cupcakes).  Ian got to judge the final round of displays.  The winners got to eat their cupcakes.  The losers had to eat their cupcakes. 

I was impressed at Aden's party how inclusive she was of her siblings.  Mona and Quinn did not get pushed off to the side just because friends were over.  She's a good big sister, and she may not be the best example for getting her chores or homework done without prompting, but she's wonderful about leading her little pack of siblings in a harmonious way.

Earlier this week on Aden's actual birthday she lost her final baby tooth. 

Black Friday Makes Me Blue

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays.  I am fortunate enough to come from a loving family where I feel safe and provided for, and am equally fortunate to be able to pass that along to my children.  Food, family, conversation, togetherness, and a chance to relax long enough to appreciate the things that matter in our lives....for me this has always been what Thanksgiving is about.

There is something special about a national holiday that is secular, inclusive to all Americans, and at its core about gratitude.  Taking stock of what we are grateful for in our lives is an important act that not enough of us do regularly.  I am thankful for so very much.

I probably have nothing new to add to the general discussion about Black Friday.  I'm sure it's all been said by now.  I know retailers depend on holiday sales to get themselves 'in the black' and that in this economy in particular getting more people spending helps the larger picture.  I despise the latest push to move that spending spree onto Thanksgiving Day itself.  There is a lack of respect for something I find sacred there that saddens me.  But I can't make other people use their holiday they way I would.  Maybe for someone else it's an improvement to get away from their home and into a crowded store on Thanksgiving.  I'm just glad that's not me.

I suppose the thing that bothers me is how much shopping has become part of the American identity. 

Responsibility

I had a much shorter fuse back when Ian was deployed.  The stress of the situation and all the responsibility for our children would drive me to yell too much.  There were times I really needed the kids to step up and do more so that everything wasn't all completely on me every minute.  But they were small.  It seemed like such bright little people should be able to follow certain instructions, but often they just couldn't, and in my heart I knew that. 

Still, there were days when I felt they were letting me down and they would get a loud lecture.  The one I remember best was the lecture about Responsibility.  They had responsibilities as members of our family!  As residents of our house!  They could not make extra work for me by dumping their dirty clothes all over!  If they wanted to have toys they had to pick them up when they were done!  There were rules!  They had to be more responsible!

And my beautiful, sweet children looked up at me, patiently listening to my ranting and raving as I flailed my arms around and talked about responsibility.  They looked sad and concerned and nodded in earnest agreement as I went on.  And when I finished Aden asked carefully, "Mama?  Um....  What does re-spon-si-bi-li-ty mean?" 

Anything You Want (Babble)

In life there are a few big moments, and many smaller ones.  We’re reduced on our headstones to the dates we arrived in the world and when we leave it.  In between many of us experience rites of passage such as graduations, a wedding, the birth of children….  The interesting thing to me about the big moments is they seem often to be anchored by dates.  I remember the date when my grandfather died.  Anniversaries, buying a house, stringing up the first violin I ever built myself…all things I can pinpoint in time and find on a calendar.

But often the moments with the greatest impact on our lives don’t look big.  They may not even be easy to remember, let alone possible to pin a date to.  Our lives are built of small things.  A smile at the right moment, a cold glass of water, a tiny breakthrough or failure that leads to something larger down the line.  These moments are lost in the greater scheme of things but we are created out of them like the cells that make up our bodies.

So far the calendar moments of parenting include the births of my children, first steps, starting school….  Last night I was thinking about the moments when I’ve felt most proud of them.  I’m proud of Mona when she takes the time to correct a note that is out of tune on her violin without being asked.  I’m proud of Quinn when he chooses cucumbers for a snack.  Last night I was proud of Aden.

Aden had a breakthrough recently.  It doesn’t actually matter what it was to the larger world, but it’s something we have been working toward for a long time, and I told Aden years ago that when she one day reached her goal I would take her to Target and she could pick something.  “Anything you want,” I said.  It was one of those desperate moments of parenting when you have run out of incentives and you just need change so you grasp at something new to get the child’s attention.


Well, she finally got there.  And last night on our way home from violin, just the two of us, we stopped at Target so Aden could pick out her prize.

What would you expect a nine-year-old child to pick?  With years to contemplate everything that exists in that giant store, what would you take if someone offered you anything you wanted?  I was bracing myself for her to pick out an iPod (because she loves music and has asked for one in the past), or a new bike (which she actually kind of needs because she’s outgrowing the one she has), or some outrageously large box of candy (because she’s a kid).

We walked up and down the aisles, picking out things we needed here and there as we came across them.  Aden held my hand and looked around.  We are still surprised at where things are as the remodeling progresses, but as long as you are not in a hurry it’s kind of fun not to know where anything is.  We were not in a hurry.

Eventually we found the toys and Aden spotted a pink and blue hula hoop.  She lit up when I said she could test it out in the main aisle.  She smiled and laughed and asked if it was okay to have it as her prize since her other hula hoop was broken.  She could have anything, and she wanted a four dollar hula hoop.

I told her since she’d picked such an inexpensive prize it was fine to also get a couple of other things I knew she had her eye on, like a sparkly jump rope and a glow-in-the-dark frisbee.  She looked hesitant, but then said she did need a longer jump rope, and it would be fun to play frisbee together in the field behind our house so she let me add it to the basket.

As we passed the candy aisle I was still feeling a little stunned at Aden not displaying any sort of greed in the store and I said if she wanted to pick out a treat she could.  My kids know normally not to ask for candy at Target, so Aden looked pleased to be able to contemplate the wall of candy in front of her.  She chose a little carton of Whoppers specifically because they would be easy to share with her brother and sister.

Aden helped me carry a package of toilet paper and other necessities, along with her prizes, back to the front of the store for checkout.  While we waited in line she looked again at everything she was getting, which all together still didn’t total fifteen dollars, and she looked at me nervously.  She asked if she was spoiled.

I told my daughter that spoiled implies something rotten.  I explained that she is fortunate.  She was born in a country of great opportunity to parents who love her and who have jobs that provide us with a home and food and enough money left over for hula hoops.  We are lucky to have the things we have but we are mostly lucky to have each other and that I know she understood that.  I assured her she was not spoiled.

Aden has had many ‘firsts’ that I have carefully recorded on film or in writing, and she’s had recitals and plays and moments both big and small that have both amused and amazed us.  It seems like minutes ago that Aden was just a baby in my arms at the hospital, but all those moments have piled up to form a really lovely person.  It is a privilege to be her mom.  And I am proud of her.

On Target (Babble)

(I suppose a brief disclaimer is in order to mention that Target doesn’t know I exist beyond what shopping I do there, and I am not mentioning a specific store as some kind of promotion for it.  It just happens to be the store in our neighborhood and we like it.  But if Target sees this and wants to send me gift cards I won’t say no.)

We have a Target store two blocks from our house.  We are there way too often but it is literally our corner store.  It’s hard to think of something handier to have just down the street, frankly (aside from maybe my kids’ grandparents, which is something I dream about some days).

When we first moved into our house, Target was our source for a lot of the new household goods we needed.  When I had my first baby I used to walk her there a lot.  Ian was in school most days, and hanging out at home with tiny Aden got claustrophobic sometimes and two blocks to Target was easy and fun, and usually necessary because we always needed diapers or wipes or something.  We only had one car, and if Ian took it on weekend drills with the Army, being able to walk to Target with the baby for something was a godsend.  In the winter it was a place to go that was heated, and in the summer it’s air conditioned.  Two blocks isn’t hard on tiny legs, and to be able to walk someplace with bathrooms and a changing station that kept the kids entertained and also allowed me to get some basic errands accomplished at the same time has been great.  To say it’s been convenient is an understatement.  There’s a snack counter, a pharmacy, and a photo lab.  I’ve breastfed my babies at Target, I’ve suffered a few impressive tantrums there, and we’ve had many an amusing lunch while playing I Spy and sipping Icees.  I know that store like the back of my hand.

Or, at least I did.  Recently the kids and I noticed a number of truck-sized containers taking up the south end of the parking lot.  We speculated about what they were for.  My kids were hoping for a carnival of some sort, just waiting to be unpacked and spread out in a dazzling display across the whole parking lot, but instead, the next time we went we discovered that the store is being remodeled.  They are doing it in little sections and I suspect mostly at night so that the store remains functional during the process.

It’s weird.  I hadn’t really thought about just how much time we’ve spent at this one store until they started messing with it, and it’s kind of unsettling, more so than it should be.  My kids don’t like change anyway, and outside of home, school, and the violin store, I would wager that Target is the other place they know best, so it’s awkward to have it transform into something unfamiliar.  That probably sounds sad to some people to say my kids and I are attached to a big chain store, but our neighborhood Target has always felt personal to us.  We’ve known the same employees there for years.  I’ve talked to people on our block who have lived here for decades and remember when the neighborhood protested the building of the Target store just up the street, and they all say once it opened everyone loved it.  It’s where we run into our neighbors and buy our school supplies and get medicine when we are sick.  It’s a place where we have fun while getting stuff we need.  Or don’t need (if it’s on sale):

(Mona at age 5 trying on high heels.  She still has them, and someday down the line they will be the right size.)

I was there the other night with Quinn because he needed pants.  Most of the pants he has have snaps on them, and he can’t do/doesn’t like snaps, so he keeps re-wearing the same pair of sweatpants over and over.  I figured we’d just pop in and find a couple of 5T pants without snaps and life would be good.  But Target has an insane habit of always stocking things way in advance for the upcoming season and seldom things that apply to the moment, so there were no boys’ pants, only swimsuits and shorts.  So we went ahead and bought some shorts because by the time it’s hot enough that he’ll need them Target will be on to parkas, so we grab what we can when we have the chance.  We eventually found one pair of pants the right size without snaps hidden deep in a clearance rack, so at least there are two pairs of something he can wear until Milwaukee warms up enough to break out the shorts (which could be July–that’s not a joke.  My mom still brings up the time she came to visit for Independence Day and we watched the fireworks in the park in winter coats.)

In any case, before we could find pants we had to find the boys’ section in general.  But the boys’ clothes area is now camping gear.  Camping gear is now bikes.  Next to bikes is going to be a small grocery store, which is new and is going to be great to have down the street, but my kids are wary of this idea because they don’t associate Target with bananas.  The fitting rooms have been blocked off for remodeling and in their place is a temporary structure to use.  The walls in the entry and photo areas are now red.  We’ve been to Target three days in a row this past week and each time there have been large noticeable changes.  Who knows how fast it will all be switched around?

So I took a moment to photograph my favorite quirk about our Target before it possibly gets removed:

I’ve always found it amusing that there is an express lane for people who like colloquialisms and one for grammar nerds.  That I even noticed puts me in the latter category, obviously.  All things being equal I try to use the “10 items or fewer” lane.

Anyway, I was sort of surprised when I started looking for photos on my computer that these were the only ones I have of us in Target.  I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, because we don’t tend to document the most ordinary aspects of our lives.  Trips to Target for us are as ordinary as it gets. 

But when I think back on my own life, I wish I had more photos of really ordinary things.  I wish I had a picture of the Red Barn restaurant where we used to eat before it became a video arcade and eventually was torn down to make room for 696.  I wish I had a picture of the giant slide from my old school playground before they tore out all the play equipment for a parking lot.  I wish we had more pictures of our house before the addition was put on.  Places where you make nice memories are special, even if they happen to be part of a big chain or look impersonal at a glance. 

I have watched my kids grow up in that store, the passage of time marked in changing shoe sizes and new backpacks and little toys bought at night to put under pillows from the tooth fairy.  So is it silly to be attached to Target?  I don’t think so.  It’s not as lofty as wishing my kids knew our local art museum as well as they know the toy aisles at the back of that store, but it’s part of their regular life.  It’s certainly American.  For most people on this planet our daily experience is not ordinary looking at all, which I think makes it interesting in it’s own way.

So we will continue to watch with interest the developments of our corner store.  And after July we can also pick up bananas there.

Party is such sweet sorrow (Babble)

When I was growing up we used to take these whirlwind family vacations to the East coast.  My parents are self-employed which meant time off to travel was rare, so when they decided to close the gallery for a couple of weeks every few years we would cram into the car and see as much as we could in the time we had.  We went to Washington D.C., New York, Boston,  Rhode Island, Connecticut….  Every place we went we would go to museums and galleries, historic homes, college campuses and bookstores.  We had fun and it was all interesting, but my brothers and I used to complain that we always ended up doing just what my parents wanted to do, and we never got to pick. 

So one bright morning in the middle of a vacation mom and dad said, “Okay, you can decide today.  What shall we do?”  My brothers and I looked at each other and thought for a bit, and finally we said weakly, “Well, I’m sure there’s a museum around, and I think I saw a bookstore….”  The truth is we didn’t know how to pick what to do.  We only knew one way to do things, so even given a choice there was no choice to make.

That’s kind of how I feel now with my kids.  I’m used to having at least one of them around all the time and that’s the way I do things.  I don’t get out alone much, and when I do it’s for a scheduled purpose, such as a rehearsal or a concert.  I know I probably should make time to be alone, but when I contemplate an evening away from my kids I draw a blank about what I would do with it.  I’m so out of practice with the concept that I don’t even know what the choices are.  It’s especially weird since most of what I would want to do is at home, and finding a sitter who can take the kids away but leave me here is awkward.  I feel like if I’m home it doesn’t make sense that the kids aren’t here too.

So when my friend Carol told me she was having a party I automatically asked if I could bring the kids along.  She said she had envisioned a more adult affair, and that I should see it as a good chance to get out for a change.  She even found me a place nearby that was having a babysitting fundraiser event on the same night, so there were no excuses.  I was going to a party.


I’m not good at parties.  I adore my friend and definitely wanted to go, but I don’t drink and I’m a geek which always makes me worry about fitting in.  I don’t have a problem with this–it’s not a flaw and I’m fine with who I am for the most part, even if who I am means being uneasy at parties.  I don’t need to learn to like parties more.  I get by okay, because I can talk to almost anyone and when I have the energy for it I can be amusing (so I’m told), but it doesn’t help that parties are the kind of event where I intensely notice my husband’s absence. 

It’s hard to go to a party alone, even when everyone there is nice and you know some of them already.  When you come with a partner there is a default in place for when you don’t know where to stand or what to do.  It’s like home base in tag–there’s a safe spot to retreat to and catch your breath.  Plus my favorite part of a party is always that period after it’s over, when you can talk about it and compare notes.  I especially like it if we host a party, and as Ian and I clean up together we talk about how it went.  Some of my favorite memories are of the two of us washing and drying the dishes as a team, chatting about what went right and what we’d do differently next time, who was funny, who surprised us, me assuring him his sense of humor wasn’t too odd and him assuring me I didn’t talk too much.  Leaving a party alone has an unfinished quality to it.

So tonight you get to play Ian’s role in this one-sided post-party chat.  Here’s how my evening went:

I don’t know why leaving the house always has to have a Keystone Cops quality to it, but we can never just go in a timely and calm fashion.  Mona is the most reliable of the bunch in terms of actually following simple directions, which means sometimes when I tell the kids to use the bathroom and put on shoes, Mona ends up buckled in the car before Aden’s even dressed.  (I’m not exaggerating.)  But there is always some scrambling over coats and snow pants and gloves and hats that is frustrating, some kind of discussion about what toys they can or cannot bring, and no one ever remembers where we are going. 

Anyway, Aden and Mona both got into the van while I struggled to put a coat on a sound asleep Quinn lying on the family room floor.  About a minute before I was ready to leave (and about five minutes after we should have left), Aden came rushing into the house yelling frantically that Mona had spilled water everywhere.  I don’t know why there was that much water waiting to be spilled in the backseat of the van, or why they couldn’t figure out on their own that Mona should come in and change, but I told Aden to please go out and ask Mona to come in and find new clothes.  Mona clomped upstairs a minute later, jeans soaked, coat wet….  She found a new outfit, twirled in it for me, and got back in the van.  Quinn was sleepy and cranky, and I nearly forgot to grab all the cream puffs I’d baked for the party, but we were finally on our way.

But to where?  The babysitting fundraiser place was in a facility I’d never been to before.  I had an address, but my sense of direction is a strange and magical place where anything can happen.  Apparently even an inexplicable drive out to the airport.  I finally dug out the GPS and while I was fiddling with it and looking at the time, I reminded myself that I couldn’t really be late because none of it mattered.  This was supposed to be fun, and getting stressed about fun is stupid.  Carol would be happy to see me whenever I got there, the babysitters wouldn’t care as long as they got their money.  So I didn’t get agitated about being lost, which is good because it was better to laugh when it turned out the place I was trying to find was only a few blocks from my kids’ school.  From the backseat Aden said, “Why have we been driving so long and now we’re almost back home?”  Excellent question.  We chalked it up to one of those things that happens when her dad isn’t here.

The babysitting fundraiser was kind of cool.  Lots of people and activities and snacks and a movie.  There was a ball pit and lots of games.  The girls vanished into the herd of kids immediately and didn’t look back.  Quinn…Well, Quinn fell to pieces.  He clung to me for dear life, turned away from anyone who tried to help, and wept.  This is another one of those areas where deployment makes things more complicated.  In a normal circumstance I would probably be inclined to say, “Hey, he’ll get over it as soon as I leave.  We both need to toughen up.”  But this is not normal.  Daddy went away and now he’s just some guy we talk about.  I have no idea how deep Quinn’s fear of my leaving goes.  Maybe this is run of the mill separation anxiety, and maybe it’s something more traumatic, but I don’t know, and it makes it hard to decide what to do.  I know to other parents it looks like I’m being too indulgent sometimes, but I’m just trying to be sensitive to what might be a bigger problem.  In some cases the regular parenting techniques might prove to be cruel, but again, I don’t know.

So I walked about with Quinn glued to me as long as I could and I finally had to just peel him off, hand him to another mom, and listen to him scream as I walked away.  I burst into tears before I even got out of the building.  I sat shaking in the car for a bit before setting the GPS for the party (because it was close but I didn’t want to risk seeing the airport again).

The party itself was really nice.  It was a tropical theme, which in Milwaukee during winter is particularly welcome.  The food was abundant and tasty, and I met some interesting people and ran into a few friends.  I had volunteered to make something sweet (and no, cream puffs are not tropical, but who turns down cream puffs?), and one of the best parts of my night was when I went to see what else was on the dessert table and a couple of guys sitting near it kept pointing me toward my own cream puffs saying, “You have to try these, they’re really really good.”

It was pleasant, but the moment when I felt most comfortable?  When Carol’s youngest daughter who is Aden’s age came up to ask if she could take my picture.  I said yes, but only if she was in it with me.  I was much happier sitting with Carol’s kids at the back of the room than I had been anywhere else.  Proabably because I don’t know how to choose not to be around kids.  It’s what I know, it’s where I fit right now.  (Plus she’s got super great kids.)

(Me and Anna, photo taken by Sara Kraco)

I was tired, and decided I’d done as much of a party as I felt up to.  I missed Ian.  I missed my own kids.  I think I hit the time limit someone who doesn’t drink can do at a party where other people have glasses of wine in their hands.  Carol gave me some colorful pinwheels to take back to my children and I headed out with about an hour to use up before having to get the kids out of hock.  What to do with it?  Should I go home?  That sounded lonely.  I chose Target.

It’s nice to shop without having to chant an endless litany of, “No.  No.  Put it back.  No.  Did you hear me say no?  Maybe later.  No.  Put it down.  I don’t care, put it down.  No.  No.  No.  I love you, but no.”  I picked up a few things we needed, like paper towels and shampoo.  And then I thought, “Hey, it’s my fun party night out–I’m going to treat myself to something nice!”  My husband, if he’s reading this, is already thinking (correctly) “Good lord, we own another flashlight.”

I don’t know why a nice flashlight puts me in a good mood, but it just does.  I like one with some nice heft, a good grippy grip, and a button with a satisfying click.  I have no explanation for why I enjoy buying flashlights, but it works in my favor a little that my kids are always absconding with them and running the batteries down and breaking them.  I like to have one in my nightstand and one on the refrigerator in case of blackouts, but especially since we hung a mirror ball in the kitchen and the kids use those to light that up, I can never find either one of them.  So I found myself a nice new flashlight for on top of the fridge.  I put the batteries in it in the car and clicked it on and off happily a dozen times before it was time to go get the kids.

The girls didn’t want to leave they’d had so much fun, and Quinn had eventually calmed down enough to hang out with one particular mom.  The mom kept saying to me, “My goodness he’s smart,” and couldn’t get over how much detail he was able to bring to his descriptions.  Between that and the big happy hug I got from my cutie boy it was the complete antidote to the upsetting dropoff earlier.

A weird emotional mix of an evening, but it’s a start.  I need for all our sakes to get out alone a little more often where it’s not for work or errands.  I signed the kids up for the next babysitting event at the same facility in a couple of weeks.  Quinn promised not to freak out next time, and I’ll try to find something quiet to do by myself.  I have no idea what, but at least I’ll have a nice flashlight to do it with.