Is it genetic to have crazy vivid dreams? I am a pretty wild dreamer. I work out all of my anxiety while I'm sleeping. It's often not very restful, I have to say, but it is always interesting.
Lately A has been waking up telling the strangest stories about adventures that we're sure she's never really had in this life. She woke up one day talking all about what Dora and Diego were doing, and another day telling us all about Curious George. It's like she picks up where she leaves off with the bedtime stories.
Sometimes she says things that are kind of disturbing. The other day, she was telling me that Daddy was crying. Yesterday, she woke up crying, telling me that Old Daddy had a blue face and he was looking at her. It kind of freaked me out!
If she is seeing into the future, I'm hoping that rather than a premonition about her Daddy's death, maybe he is going to find his true calling in the Blue Man Group. Those guys have blue faces and they stare pretty good! It could happen, right?
I can tell these are going to be tricky waters to navigate, but being a wild dreamer myself and with all my beliefs about waking and dreaming life, maybe I can help her sort it all out as she gets more aware of things. We'll see, I guess.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Deep Thought of the Day
I'm sitting in a room right now with several bajillionaires. I had a fleeting thought about checking my bank account, and then I had this thought, which I'm kind of stuck on: I bet these suckers have a hell of a lot more than $600 in their checking accounts.
And this led me to another thought: I work damn hard. I support my family and live a pretty average middle class lifestyle. I don't go on elaborate vacations, especially the ones with sand and surf. In fact, I have very little leisure time at all. I don't own any expensive fancy toys or have a nice wardrobe. My kid won't go to private school or get a brand new car on her 16th birthday. Right now I'm trying to figure out how to get enough money to get the 70 ft tall trees in my yard trimmed so they don't fall on my house. So what does all this hard work get me? Survival, I guess.
I'm not going to say that I work as hard as some of the surrounding bajillionaires, and I certainly don't take the risks they do to get to that position. And that's ok. There's a trade off for having a bajillion dollars, for sure. But the thing that gets me is that I'm essentially working for the same thing they are - to make them rich. It's my job to make sure they look good doing their jobs.
I've had a pretty satisfying and steady career in the corporate world, and the corporate world is set up as a hierarchy. It's not set up for the common man to get rich. I get that. But at the end of my day, I can't help but wonder what it's all worth.
And that, is my deep thought of the day.
And this led me to another thought: I work damn hard. I support my family and live a pretty average middle class lifestyle. I don't go on elaborate vacations, especially the ones with sand and surf. In fact, I have very little leisure time at all. I don't own any expensive fancy toys or have a nice wardrobe. My kid won't go to private school or get a brand new car on her 16th birthday. Right now I'm trying to figure out how to get enough money to get the 70 ft tall trees in my yard trimmed so they don't fall on my house. So what does all this hard work get me? Survival, I guess.
I'm not going to say that I work as hard as some of the surrounding bajillionaires, and I certainly don't take the risks they do to get to that position. And that's ok. There's a trade off for having a bajillion dollars, for sure. But the thing that gets me is that I'm essentially working for the same thing they are - to make them rich. It's my job to make sure they look good doing their jobs.
I've had a pretty satisfying and steady career in the corporate world, and the corporate world is set up as a hierarchy. It's not set up for the common man to get rich. I get that. But at the end of my day, I can't help but wonder what it's all worth.
And that, is my deep thought of the day.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Fathers
I called my dad on Father's Day. He didn't answer. I left a message. I don't expect a call back, but I am glad I tried.
When I was 6, we were closer.
I am happy to celebrate Father's Day these days with my own Baby Daddy.
This is how it should be. I hope they are pals forever, even when she's grown and has her own life away from us. It means a lot to a girl, more than she may ever know.
When I was 6, we were closer.
I am happy to celebrate Father's Day these days with my own Baby Daddy.
Some of my favorite feelings in the world are when I get a text at work saying that he is walking her to the library, or taking her to the book store or the park. I get the sweetest images in my mind of big tall J with a proud, beaming smile, holding his little girl's hand or carrying her across the street to keep her safe.
This is how it should be. I hope they are pals forever, even when she's grown and has her own life away from us. It means a lot to a girl, more than she may ever know.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Egg Battle
My house is a disaster about 99% of the time with toys and books everywhere. Several times during the day, and especially one last time at night, I attempt to recruit the little one to help me clean up. If we're going with statistics, I'll say it's about 80% successful. (Sometimes it's just not worth the battle, ya know?) I do want her to get in good habits with her stuff by learning to clean up and be a respectful domestic citizen. We're getting there.
Yesterday I set her to a cleaning task while I helped out with something else. She's got a collection of multi-colored plastic eggs that end up in halves all over the place. Some of these eggs have a cool felt "egg yolk" that corresponds to the shell color. (Her caregiver is very clever, and put these together for her.) I was putting these eggs back together and I was almost done when she came over and started ripping them apart.
"What are you doing??" I say to her, "Stop it! I'm trying to clean up! You are not being very nice to Mommy!"
But she didn't stop, so I physically removed her. I wasn't harsh with her or pissed off, just very matter of fact. This behavior is not cool and it isn't acceptable, and she knows it. She was just being a pickle. I started to fill the tub for a bath. The day was o-v-e-r.
She paused on the way to the bathroom, totally un-prompted, and she said, in a humble voice, "I'm sorry Mama. I'm sorry I broke your eggs." And she walked over to the eggs and started to put them back together.
I had a little party inside my heart right there. This is so awesome! I try to be very intentional with discipline and not yell or get crazy with her, even though it's super frustrating. I try to keep a cool, rational head and just speak to actions and consequences. I want her to learn, but not to feel like she's a bad person. Could it be working?
Yesterday I set her to a cleaning task while I helped out with something else. She's got a collection of multi-colored plastic eggs that end up in halves all over the place. Some of these eggs have a cool felt "egg yolk" that corresponds to the shell color. (Her caregiver is very clever, and put these together for her.) I was putting these eggs back together and I was almost done when she came over and started ripping them apart.
"What are you doing??" I say to her, "Stop it! I'm trying to clean up! You are not being very nice to Mommy!"
But she didn't stop, so I physically removed her. I wasn't harsh with her or pissed off, just very matter of fact. This behavior is not cool and it isn't acceptable, and she knows it. She was just being a pickle. I started to fill the tub for a bath. The day was o-v-e-r.
She paused on the way to the bathroom, totally un-prompted, and she said, in a humble voice, "I'm sorry Mama. I'm sorry I broke your eggs." And she walked over to the eggs and started to put them back together.
I had a little party inside my heart right there. This is so awesome! I try to be very intentional with discipline and not yell or get crazy with her, even though it's super frustrating. I try to keep a cool, rational head and just speak to actions and consequences. I want her to learn, but not to feel like she's a bad person. Could it be working?
Saturday, May 25, 2013
My Two Year Old Says...
The mind of a two year old is amazing, and kind of bizarre.
Here are some things that come out of my daughter's mouth on a daily basis:
On Observing The Body:
"There's a spider in my (va)gina!"
(There was a spider in the tub, but we removed it promptly, and it was no where near her girl parts.)
"When I am big I am going to get boobs!"
(Said to a random woman at the playground.)
"This is my scary monster booty."
On Random Scary Things:
"There is a ladybug in my diaper! A ladybug in my diaper!"
(Upon investigation, no visible ladybug.)
(hysterically) "There is a dog in the window!"
(The window is 15 feet off the ground. And there is no visible dog.)
"There's a robot in the kitchen! Is it gone?"
(There is no visible robot.)
"There is a monster in the curtain!"
(No visible monster.)
On Observing Tragedy (her own and others):
"That baby is sad. She needs her mommy."
"I've got big tears!"
"I fell down went boom"
And,
"That was surprising!"
(Spoken after trauma of said falling down going boom.)
Here are some things that come out of my daughter's mouth on a daily basis:
On Observing The Body:
"There's a spider in my (va)gina!"
(There was a spider in the tub, but we removed it promptly, and it was no where near her girl parts.)
"When I am big I am going to get boobs!"
(Said to a random woman at the playground.)
"This is my scary monster booty."
On Random Scary Things:
"There is a ladybug in my diaper! A ladybug in my diaper!"
(Upon investigation, no visible ladybug.)
(hysterically) "There is a dog in the window!"
(The window is 15 feet off the ground. And there is no visible dog.)
"There's a robot in the kitchen! Is it gone?"
(There is no visible robot.)
"There is a monster in the curtain!"
(No visible monster.)
On Observing Tragedy (her own and others):
"That baby is sad. She needs her mommy."
"I've got big tears!"
"I fell down went boom"
And,
"That was surprising!"
(Spoken after trauma of said falling down going boom.)
Monday, May 20, 2013
All Short and Dumpy Looking
My dear cousin is pregnant. She's 5'10" and very thin and fit, but since becoming pregnant she feels big and fat, and she's always saying so on Facebook. It can be quite freaky to see your body change like that, even if you're in perfect shape. I'm always trying to encourage her that she is healthy and normal, that her condition is temporary, and to enjoy the experience of growing a human in her body.
Today, one of her friends posted, "At least you're not all short and dumpy looking like Kim Kardashian."
I'm calling bullshit on this statement in a million different ways. This kind of thinking is the problem, and it's why my cousin feels fat in the first place. This kind of statement breaks down the fabric of sisterhood. I know she was just trying to make her friend feel better, but what she actually said was that tall pregnant people are more attractive, and thus better, than short "dumpy" people. So, so offensive, and so, so superficial and rude.
My response, because I couldn't help myself: "I was/am short and dumpy looking but who cares - I grew a human and my body is amazing because of it."
My point? Not that I am inferior for not being tall and thin, but that all bodies that grow babies in them are wonderful and amazing. It doesn't matter what they're shaped like! We need to take that to heart, women! It's wrong to judge each other and tear each other down like that. What's the point? I am 100% sure it didn't make my cousin feel one bit better about her changing self.
I may be short (absolutely nothing I can do about it) and "dumpy" (a matter of opinion) like Kim Kardashian (who is no role model by any means, but still a beautiful pregnant woman who deserves respect), but I am not shallow and ignorant. I know real beauty when I see it. And for this, I am very thankful.
Today, one of her friends posted, "At least you're not all short and dumpy looking like Kim Kardashian."
I'm calling bullshit on this statement in a million different ways. This kind of thinking is the problem, and it's why my cousin feels fat in the first place. This kind of statement breaks down the fabric of sisterhood. I know she was just trying to make her friend feel better, but what she actually said was that tall pregnant people are more attractive, and thus better, than short "dumpy" people. So, so offensive, and so, so superficial and rude.
My response, because I couldn't help myself: "I was/am short and dumpy looking but who cares - I grew a human and my body is amazing because of it."
My point? Not that I am inferior for not being tall and thin, but that all bodies that grow babies in them are wonderful and amazing. It doesn't matter what they're shaped like! We need to take that to heart, women! It's wrong to judge each other and tear each other down like that. What's the point? I am 100% sure it didn't make my cousin feel one bit better about her changing self.
I may be short (absolutely nothing I can do about it) and "dumpy" (a matter of opinion) like Kim Kardashian (who is no role model by any means, but still a beautiful pregnant woman who deserves respect), but I am not shallow and ignorant. I know real beauty when I see it. And for this, I am very thankful.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Softer
My husband wishes I wouldn't yell at him in the morning. He really hates it and he gets really snippy with me.
In reality, I don't wake up mad at my husband. I wake up with the harsh reality of all the things that are in front of me each day, and what it will take to get them all done. The first five or so times I ask him to get up, I'm actually quite impartial. Each time after that, my voice does get louder, yes. The man sleeps like the dead, so if you don't get to bullhorn level, he will easily sleep on all day.
It's true that each time I have to ask him to wake up, I also get more irritated. I'm sorry, but I do. The morning happens pretty much the same way every day, and it has for years now. I don't know why it's a surprise to him. I don't know why he's not a little more proactive about the situation. If I stopped asking him to wake up and help to get A ready so I can get ready to go to work, I'm sure he wouldn't mind. But that is never going to happen. We are in this together and I'm holding him to it.
I'm sure he wishes he woke up every day with his wife whispering sweet nothings in his ear, after sleeping for as long as he needs to. I'm sure he wishes I was a little softer and more accommodating, and never raised my voice. That would be nice. Who wouldn't want that in a wife?
Honestly, my life, it's stressful most of the time. It would be less stressful if he carried more of the work burden so that I could carry less, worry less, and scramble less, and thus focus more on finessing my domestic approach. I would like that too, but I can't hang my hat on it. So our mornings are going to be chop-chop. I am going to share the chop-chop with my husband so that I don't fall down dead from the weight of it all.
I promise to try and channel a little more sweetness and a little less warrior taskmaster. I promise to keep my tone in check if he promises not to resent me for the intrusion on his slumber.
PS. In an effort to channel some sweetness, I woke him up this morning with an offer of coffee. He appreciated it so much, that he brought me a grapefruit for breakfast during my way-too-early conference call. You can teach old dogs new tricks, I guess.
In reality, I don't wake up mad at my husband. I wake up with the harsh reality of all the things that are in front of me each day, and what it will take to get them all done. The first five or so times I ask him to get up, I'm actually quite impartial. Each time after that, my voice does get louder, yes. The man sleeps like the dead, so if you don't get to bullhorn level, he will easily sleep on all day.
It's true that each time I have to ask him to wake up, I also get more irritated. I'm sorry, but I do. The morning happens pretty much the same way every day, and it has for years now. I don't know why it's a surprise to him. I don't know why he's not a little more proactive about the situation. If I stopped asking him to wake up and help to get A ready so I can get ready to go to work, I'm sure he wouldn't mind. But that is never going to happen. We are in this together and I'm holding him to it.
I'm sure he wishes he woke up every day with his wife whispering sweet nothings in his ear, after sleeping for as long as he needs to. I'm sure he wishes I was a little softer and more accommodating, and never raised my voice. That would be nice. Who wouldn't want that in a wife?
Honestly, my life, it's stressful most of the time. It would be less stressful if he carried more of the work burden so that I could carry less, worry less, and scramble less, and thus focus more on finessing my domestic approach. I would like that too, but I can't hang my hat on it. So our mornings are going to be chop-chop. I am going to share the chop-chop with my husband so that I don't fall down dead from the weight of it all.
I promise to try and channel a little more sweetness and a little less warrior taskmaster. I promise to keep my tone in check if he promises not to resent me for the intrusion on his slumber.
PS. In an effort to channel some sweetness, I woke him up this morning with an offer of coffee. He appreciated it so much, that he brought me a grapefruit for breakfast during my way-too-early conference call. You can teach old dogs new tricks, I guess.
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