Grateful. . .

first and foremost, for my son. For his continuing laughter, smiles, and affection. I hope that two years from now, I will still be the grateful recipient of his unrestrained love.

two years ago



today

I'm Still Standing

I guess I really do date myself when I feel compelled to head my posts with song titles of my youth. I may have a select group of contemporary artists that I know and even like more, but I certainly can't identify today's artists or songs with any regularity! And really, when did I last have the time to lie around listening to the radio all day waiting for my favorite song requests to be played? Ah, those sweet angst-filled early teen years. . . It amazes me that almost 25 years later thinking about these songs brings back powerful physical memories. I don't just remember, but feel with a visceral quality, the emotions that I felt then, usually in relation to some boy or other. Some songs still do it for me, but more likely than not the feeling of longing evoked is tinged with regret, not hope.

Please parse the above lightly. I did not intend my return to blogging as a downer, but nostalgia is never far when I am near. Really what I was intending when I started this post was a reference to the fact that the holidays are over and, despite a long absence, I am STILL STANDING. I baked, crafted, shopped, wrapped, visited, recovered, and welcomed in the new year. I don't put much stock in resolutions, as I am ever skeptical of my ability to see any to fruition, however I do have some intentions:

To live in the moment more. My son will turn five in May and I anxiously dread the ebbing of the easy love we swim in now. In fact I've pretty much dreaded this from the day he was born, anticipating the sullen responses, averted eyes and general rejection that parents often suffer at the hands of their callous young. So, for now, I will smother him in kisses and demand my share in return! Hopefully, the banked love will make the desert crossing easier.



Conversely, to create my future. I hesitate to put those words down as I don't have any strategy waiting in the wings to move the action forward. But a change is gonna come.

Where are you goin' my little one, little one?
Where are you goin' my baby my own?
Turn around and you're two
Turn around and you're four
Turn around and you're a young [boy]
Going out of the door

Turn Around by Nanci Griffiths

(Lyrics by Malvina Reynolds, Harry Belafonte & Allen Greene)

Cold Turkey

And I'm not talking left-overs.

Beginning tomorrow, morning cartoons are a once-was. For a little while, that is. Four days, specifically. Any longer and I might lose it. I'll admit it, I like my hour in the morning to fiddle around while my son sprawls in front of the TV, no interaction or guidance expected on my part. Actually, he is very actively involved in the shows that he watches, participating in the call and response, raising his arms up to the sky, ENGAGED.

Unfortunately, SIGH, he has been experiencing progressively more extreme withdrawal when it is time to turn said electronic device off. As in outright refusal, sobbing, thrashing around on the floor, etc. This makes it quite difficult to complete the few remaining tasks that are necessary before we can leave the house, like brushing teeth and putting on shoes.

I reached my elastic limit this morning (remember, I don't really want to impose this consequence!) when he was a horrid little brat (oops, did I really type that?) after I turned off the TV. Despite the fact that we were going on a really exciting field trip with his preschool to see the Golden Dragon Acrobats, which he had been eagerly anticipating prior to the cartoon fiasco. Just like an addict, however, he wanted more, more, more of the drug that was currently coursing through his system!

Instead of cooperating (ha!) so we could leave in a timely fashion, he spent ten minutes choking on his own mucus as he sobbed away like the junkie he is. Then, when we got in the car and he still hadn't stopped crying, mommy dearest (see how I try to distance myself from my evil other through third-person narrative?) proceeded to scream at him for 5 minutes to "just shut up!"

So. Tomorrow, no TV. And Wednesday. And Thursday. And Friday. I'm not looking to ban TV watching, just to take a step back into a more balanced space, from which we can evaluate "how much" and "when." (Tuesday morning update: my plan went surprisingly well. No whining, no tears, no endless protestations. I may be on to something here. Go figure.)

Wish me luck.

And when [he] was good
[He] was very, very good,
But when [he] was bad [he] was horrid.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Mommy Dearest

Okay, so perhaps I'm being a little hard on myself. . .

But really, sometimes I do feel like I just manage to stay on this side of the line between "nurturing, rational, attached mama" and "she who should be publicly flogged and not allowed to breed further."

I've been thinking, as all new bloggers must, about how I will use my blog and what it will reveal about me. Naturally, I want to use it as a venue for sharing my creative work and facilitating an exchange of ideas and encouragement with all of you wonderful knitters, crafters, makers and bakers out there in the blogisphere. However, I also want to have an outlet for sharing some of my personal trials and tribulations, particulary, but not only, as they relate to my role as mama. Shall we say, a space where I can rant now and then and perhaps some kind soul out there will make a point to tell me that I'm not alone? Of course, I have my family and friends, and they've been more than supportive, don't get me wrong. Still, and let's get down to the nitty-gritty here, it's been over 30 years since my mom had a toddler and neither one of us were a boy! My sister doesn't have any children, yet. And my mama friends, from my distorted and self-referential point-of-view, get it right more times than not. Now, I really do know that they suffer much of the same self-doubt as I do, but it's not always apparent.

So, let's state the obvious. I LOVE my son. I would NOT trade him in for another. He enriches my life immensely. For the most part, I think I succeed as a parent. I am loving and generous, I provide ample opportunities for social, emotional and intellectual stimulation and growth. But, sometimes I just SUCK. Sometimes, I want hours to myself, where I can read or craft, uninterrupted, without having to guide his activities constructively or, ahem, guiltily allow him to watch TV so that I am free to go about my business. It's usually educational, and it's rarely more than 1 1/2 hours per day, but that's already too much according to many of the "more attentive" moms out there - though less than what the doctor cautions against!

Also, I am a control freak. Yes, it's true. I like things my way, thank you very much. Hmm, but so does he. Imagine, if you will, the myriad opportunities for conflict: getting dressed, eating, brushing teeth, choosing a halloween costume, even! Often, my lesser self rears her head, the one that I don't like very much. I try to ignore her, but am not always successful. Let's not discuss the screaming, the bribes or threats, the entirely counter-productive meanness. . . I don't know you well enough, yet, for that.

I think I've said enough for now. Thank you for reading this far, I feel much better to have got that off my chest and, lest you take my words too much to heart, let me leave you with a picture and a promise to approach each day, even each moment, as a new beginning: