Sticking to the Point

Show n' Tell

Today at noon, I'll walk into Miss A's school, as show n' tell.

The obvious topic would be acupuncture.

Or possibly, photography.

Today at noon, I'll walk into Miss A's school as a roller derby referee.

I've got my skate bag and my zebra shirt and a printed diagram of how the game is played.

I'll talk about the skaters and the refs and what we all do.

I'll use words like strong and athletic.

And hopefully, what the kiddies will take away from A's show n' tell today, is the belief that they can do anything, be anything that they desire.

That gender doesn't define what you do with your life.

That just because you're grown-up, you can still follow your dreams.

Today at noon, I'll walk into Miss A's school as show n' tell.

Today, I'm proud.

Fun Finale

I've been ribbed recently that our home is like a B&B. I love having house guests and our close proximity to Manhattan, makes our home an easy destination.

On the heels of Nicole, Holli and Faith came to visit, (I can't believe  over a week has passed already), to celebrate miss A's seventh birthday and a special birthday trip to the American Girl store.

We have a tradition for A's birthday. She gets to miss school on her birthday (or close to), we go into the city and we do anything she wants. So far its always been the American Girl store, but someday I'm hoping it will be a Broadway show.

Beating the morning rush on the train into the city wasn't a problem. In the city however, it was ridiculous how many people were on the streets and in the subways at 10:30am. Doesn't anyone have to work?

The store was as crowded as you'd expect. Holli heard a sales person on a walkie talkie describing the first floor as, a mob scene and it wasn't an exaggeration. Mia came home with us and Samantha went home with Holli and Faith.

Instead of trying to navigate the city on the weekend, we decided to drive down the coast to Seaside Heights for a little photobooth-ing and shooting on the early, spring beach.  Seaside Heights probably wasn't the best choice in hindsight; most of the arcade fun is geared towards adults (read slot machines). The only kiddie fun were those machines with the grabbing hands that are weighted so you'll never grab the fucking webkinz and you throw your money down the drain while your kid bursts into tears because you will never, not ever win.

Looking around, I didn't see the vintage photobooth that was there in the fall. Turns out, the booth is put away for the winter; it's too cold for the chemicals and the crap digital booth wasn't working.

We still had fun. I got to cross a portion of #12 off my list and Holli and I got the money jump shot; consolation for no boothing.

Sacred Sunday :: the best day of my life

March 30th, 2001
9:59am
5 pounds, 0 ounces
21.5" long

Of all the babies in the world, how did we get so lucky to have you?

Happy Birthday, my beautiful baby girl. You make me and my world a much better place.

I love you to the moon and back.

Sacred Life Sunday :: Power

As is my way, lately, I've been impatient. Anxious with the weight of decision-making, I've been more in my head lately, trying to sort out my professional self.

On Wednesday my acupuncturist C asked, 'have you been impatient?' as she read my pulse.*

I've been an impatient mama. Most week days, (weekends are entirely different), I am worn down by asking. I ask,

please pick out your clothes, please get undressed, would you like ( ) for dinner?

And then I'll ask some more. Everyday it's the same routine and by the week's end, I've had it. In the morning, A isn't ready for breakfast. She wants me to pick out her clothes and then changes her mind. All the time I'm trying to move miss A along, so I can go make lunch, throw on clothes, shove a banana into my mouth, as I race out the door to warm up the car.

There are a lot of rules in first grade and I've added more to the mix, with no playdates after school except on Friday's. With a strict teacher this year, there's very little down-time during A's school day and it's very easy to lose that tiny play-time privledge if the rules aren't followed.**

During the parent-teacher conference, I giggled in my head as the teacher described A rolling away from the group as they listened at story time, that's so my girl. I'm sure by the end of the day, when I'm asking something of her, she's thinking 'enough woman. i'm watching hannah montana, i'm done.'

I have the power. It's really that simple. I can let this continue or I can change my attitude. Negativity hovers around our evenings; we're caught in our routine dance. I know with more focus and kindness, more attention, I can change the dynamic of how our evenings unfold. Less tears, more love. That's all A really wants, especially when she's tired. Attention. I'm too busy on the computer, folding clothes, straightening up...micro-managing, and I have the power to change that.

I don't expect this to be some Enchanted (which I loved by the way), moment, happily ever after. There will be more instances of impatience, there will be whinging and probably big droplet tears.

At least there's momentum, something that makes me feel present, no matter how tenuously we begin.

*This is the brilliance of Chinese medicine. Magic in the fingertips. Loathe to take the granulated herbal formula that truly tastes like bitter sludge, I'm preparing my decoction as I write this. I need this medicine and I'm shocked as I gulp it down, a taste of honey for afterwards laying close at hand, I realize this formula doesn't taste so bad. And again, I love this medicine. If the formula isn't terrible tasting, it means it's the right one.

**This school year has been a lesson in letting go. I have issues with A's teacher. But my girl likes her and doesn't complain, she's learning so much, and it's not about me. I'm learning that I can stand next to my child but I can't orchestrate or influence in the way that I've been able to for her first 5 years.

Sacred Life Sunday: my sunshine

As much as I feel wistful that miss A is growing up, I adore this time in our lives. I love the person she's becoming. She's funny and impish and while these traits are not welcome in the classroom (ahem), I love that her spirit can't be crushed even if she has to be reminded daily, about proper classroom behavior.

My heart swells with joy now that we're able to sit together doing our own thing. I knit and A beads, something she loves almost as much as writing books. A's life ambition (at 6.5 years) is to be an artist. She loves to color and draw - she loves to write books and then illustrate the story. She likes to call herself an illustrator and I giggle inside; I'm quite certain I hadn't a clue what an illustrator was/is when I was her age.

Every night as we have lovey's before A falls asleep, I remind A that I'm the luckiest mommy of all, that somehow I scored the best little girl and she nods her sweet head in agreement. My girl knows she's loved and I think that that will be the strongest asset we can give to her. With love and praise the sky is the limit and I delight that miss A will soar.

One Day

9:30am. Kiss M goodbye, he's off on a last minute overnight to Philly for a work event.

10am. Pick A up from sleep-over. She's tired.  Dark crescent moons circle her eyes, the reminder of a night when too little sleep meant giggled whispers on an air mattress.

We settle in with a snack of Pirates' booty, a movie (freaky friday) and the promise of an art project.

11am. Spin art in the house! A favorite with miss A, we set up the machine, pull out the paints and she begins. She's good for a half hour, I make my 2nd cup of tea, black and steaming.

A slice of pizza in the toaster oven, lunch before I drop my girl off for an afternoon playdate; 3 hours of choice time for both of us.

1:30pm. Drop A off at her playdate and plan my afternoon. Another cup of tea and a sit-down in front of the computer.

2:30pm. Still here. Three posts for NaBlo(me)PoMo, now in the queue.

4pm. Still here, how did it get so late? Make a phone call to a sweet friend.

4:30pm. Where's Elmo? Crap, I'm late. Grab back-up Elmo only to see the original Elmo squished into the backseat of the car. Throw back-up Elmo on the floor, pick-up miss A.

5pm. Dinner at the diner - egg white and veggie omelet for me, chicken and rice soup for my girl.

6pm. A quick change into PJ's, we settle downstairs. A with Zach and Cody, (and a little Miley too), me with a cup of tea and knitting.

7:30pm. Snuggled into bed, we read books to each other. First A reads Socks for Supper. My turn, miss A drifts off on a pink cloud of dreams, lulled to sleep by Priscilla and the Pink Planet.

8pm. Arrested Development. Season One, disc three. Kitty. GOB. Need I say more?

A (stream of conscious) fine line...

I was thinking of my oldest friends, the friends that have known me twenty years and counting. We're not in touch so much anymore. Holiday cards arrive annually, sometimes a phone call. It struck me as I wrote this, that in this age of cyber communication, a phone call feels so very personal. I hesitate now before I dial, when even 5 years ago it would be quite natural.

All of these women have careers, most of them full-time. Some of these friends are mamas and all of them have one child. We all have just one. Sometimes, I long to live closer. On separate coasts, I fantasize that we'd still be close, our children growing up together, one big, extended family.

Today miss A talked about wanting a sibling, she almost never does. When it comes up (she never talks about siblings with M), I can see her desire, I know. And talking to my sister on the phone later, I felt a heaviness in my heart knowing that my girl won't experience that connection.

At the time we might have entertained having another child, my career was one of the reasons confirming why we were done with one. Another child would have meant putting my career aside and I didn't want to have to do that. I feel guilty admitting that.

The complicated ending of my pregnancy and all that occurred, make it easy for me to be honest about my feelings. It also makes it easier to believe that I'm all about my career; that becoming a mama didn't change me significantly and I wouldn't care anymore. I don't know.

I do know that I have a small longing deep inside. Watching my daughter grow up, it catches my breathe. I'm caught in a bittersweet symphony. I also know that the last one, the baby of the brood or the only child, as your wee one becomes their own person, with their own memories and experiences, you as the mama feel an ache.

We've done the best we can for our girl. I like to joke that if the only grievance miss A has about her childhood was that she was an only child, than we did a good job.

Follow Your Dreams

My friend L is a runner. Taking to the sport in her late 30's, my friend runs marathons, competes in triathalons and she's good. Good enough to run Boston. Good enough to get a spot in the NYC marathon.

A asked the other day if L wins her races. I explained that professional athletes run the races L competes in, so even though she does really, really well, she doesn't win nor does she expect to.

A ponders my answer and then asks,

'just like my babysitter, right? she plays soccer and that's her job...'

I nod my head in agreement, silently squishing my desire to rant. Yes, it's her job now, while she's still a college girl. But make a career as a professional athlete, sustain yourself by playing sports? Hardly. Go get a real job. 

It's 2007 and we can count on our hands, (not even necessary to include the toes), the number of  professional sports opportunities available for women. Women aren't encouraged to pursue sports beyond college and the opportunities to make a career are slim. Golf and tennis. These are two sports I can think of that women compete on a level equal to men.

Perhaps it's the media. The sports world is dominated by men, marketed towards men and for the majority of the population, sports have become their universal language. I've always envied that. Having sports to talk about in social situations. Even with nothing in common, chances are there's sports.

At home, we try to encourage our girl to think big. Nothing is an obstacle, everything an opportunity. In her wide-open heart, A doesn't see limitations because of gender.  If she can't do something  it's because we've said no or she wasn't able to. Yet. 

Squishing my desire to say it like it is, I answer my girl.

"yes, it's just like our babysitter, playing soccer is her job." 

I hope things will change. Maybe by the time A is finishing college, there will be more opportunities for women as professional athletes. And maybe it won't matter. Because she'll have found a way to follow her dreams based on her mind and abilities, not gender. I can follow my dreams too.

The Spark

I can't remember a time when books weren't my life blood. Of my scant childhood memories, moments that stand out involve books. Sitting on top of the clothes hamper, reading to my dad while he shaved. Christmas and birthday presents included new hardcover books of my own, instead of borrowed books from the library. I still love the way a new hardcover smells, those crisp white pages, a scent uniquely their own.

I hoped that books would be important to A, but it's not always so. My dad is a voracious reader, my sister not so much. Naturally I wanted to share the written world with my girl, but miss A had other plans.

A loves books. And as a toddler, she had zero interest in either of us reading them to her. She loved storytime at school and the library. We spent many a wintery afternoon at this library when we lived in Brooklyn and then later, when we moved to our suburban oasis the library was part of our weekly routine.* After storytime I'd read a magazine or book and A would sit with a pile of books, turning the pages babbling.

When she began to speak, A would make up the story inside the book, reading to herself and often, her stuffed friends carefully lined up along the sofa and floor. During the reign of Disney princesses, A knew the story of her favorite, Sleeping Beauty, convincing her friend N that she knew how to read. He sat on the floor of the library entranced as A delighted him with the tale of Aurora and Prince Phillip, her tiny fingers splayed along the back, impersonating her teachers and librarians.

Even with her love of books, miss A showed absolutely no interest in learning to read despite my enthusiastic and annoying efforts to encourage her. With TV turn-off (reducing the amount of television time during the week), A began to ask us to read to her, one or two books before bedtime or in the late afternoon when she was tired. I think for comfort and way to wind down next to us, rather than the actual desire to hear the story.

After A's sixth birthday this past March, something sparked. She started recognizing single words and we started to practice. We began with simple books, sounding out words and a lot of word recognition. There is something so heart-breakingly wonderful and bittersweet when you hear your kid sounding out words, especially words ending in Y. And there I am, trying to figure out how to teach my kid how to read and all the gazillion rules in English, the ones that you just know. Like Y on the end of a word usually sounds out like E. Or the sound that TH, CH and SH make.

I watch A guess what a word means. Her eyes quickly scan the picture trying to place the word, looking for the letters and their combinations and pulling a word that has those same sounds from the other new words she adds to the vault each day. A friend with older children told me that's how they learn to read, placing words into the picture and figuring out, without sounding out the meaning. Quickly A began to choose books with more words. Because she's entering first grade, she believes that level one books are what she should read and I don't discourage her. Diligently she sounds out the words, scanning the picture and her repetoire, again and again.

I kvel when A reads to me. She sounds out words and instead of looking to me to supply the answer, she reaches the word on her own. She's mastered TH, CH and SH. And books she read methodically only weeks ago, she reads now with ease. We've signed up for the summer reading camp at the library. We check off 15 minute increments and on recording days, there are prizes and pieces to add to their mobile suspended by wires above and across the children's reading room.

The spark has ignited. I see it as she chooses books to bring for the carride to camp and in her serious pursuit of level one books on the library shelves. I watch my daughter bloom as she discovers the written world and I wish for my girl, a life-long love.

*from four to five y.o. both of us (miss A and myself) stopped going to the library, completely burned out on the whole experience.

The plan

When we first moved to our suburban oasis, there was a lot of planning involved in childcare. What facility (I was never the nanny-type) would best care for miss A and also give me a full day. Once A's 'school' was in place, I looked for office space that would accomodate a part-time schedule. I knew my hours would be a modified version of what they'd become in 2007, the year A entered first grade. 2007 became my gold standard. The year we would no longer need to pay for childcare. The year that A would be gone from 8:30 until 3:15, a full day. In early 2004 as I was choosing daycare options and office locations, 2007 was a very distant horizon. A rite of passage.

Suddenly (it really feels that abrupt), here I am. A started camp Monday and the camp schedule, replicates the school day. This is what my weekdays will look like for the next twelve years. I work Monday, Friday and Saturday and this schedule, in my current digs, won't change. Which leaves me a lot of time to myself. And that's what I need to figure out.

Suddenly (there's that word again), I won't have to cram laundry-groceries-errands into a frenzied 2 1/2 hour window. I can go to the gym regularly. I have time to be creative. I have time to work more. I have options. And frankly, I don't know what to do with myself. This week has been fine. The novelty of more time has allowed me to be uber-productive, a wrinkle of my old self. Eventually, the shine dulls and I will find myself needing more. I've volunteered to work in the school library starting in September, but that's one hour a week, hardly enough to fill the void. That's what it feels like, having my girl all grown up.

This week I've spent my days alone and I miss my side-kick, my companion. I knew having her home with me last year was really, the last year. And I appreciated our time together, even as she busted my butt to make playdates and entertain. I guess I didn't know how much I'd miss all that, but then I never do.

I've got options and I want to consider these thoughtfully, carefully. I'm going to take the summer and marinate on my choices, instead of my typical rash impulsivity. In my heart I'm a nomad, and in reality I'm firmly planted in routine. I shiver with excitement and fear.