Spring Forward

Last week, Madame Spring arrived with warmth and she was greeted with open (and bare) arms. We apparently offended her because she decided that we needed some more rain this week. Please come back to us, Spring! We love you!

Run For It

I wouldn't call myself the star runner in my group of friends, not by a long shot, but I have been lacing up the old sneakers a lot more lately. It's some nice quality time with myself, although I've realized that it's good I can't see myself while I'm out there because I inevitably look like giant tomato with how red I get. Molly also asks me, without fail, every time that I return if I'm stinky. Yep, that's a recipe for awesomeness there -- a red, stinky, running tomato.

Despite some of the apparent negative outcomes of running, I realized how many (probably very cliched) similarities there are between parenting and jogging. As I've been out there and letting my mind wander over various topics recently, I've kept coming back to the sameness, at times, of the two activities. Here are my top six:

6. We can become myopic. Looking at the ground immediately in front of you can often provide the worst perspective and we don't realize how the next ten steps are simply part of longer journey. When you look up at the wide world around you and the bigger goals, though, those next steps don't loom as nearly as large. The same can be true with parenting. When we look at less than desirable behavior in the little picture, it feels frustrating or unmanageable or exasperating or just plain hard and how can we possibly say something one more time. When we look beyond our little microcosm, though, some crumbs or blocks dumping really isn't so bad. We are able to remind ourselves that raising kids is (to really make things cliched) a marathon and not a sprint, and that all things come in stages. Putting small acts in the larger context allows us to remember that they don't dump their blocks because they are trying to push our buttons but because they are little tykes who love to hear the sound that blocks makes when they hit the floor for the 900th time and well, that's what they are supposed to do. It's easy and inevitable to become myopic, though, because we all have competing demands on our time and the next ten steps can feel impossible to accomplish when that's all we're looking at.

5. Cross-train. Running may be what you like best but if you only do that, you will likely burn out or get hurt and you will never be the best runner out there. If you mix it up, though, success and sustainability are much more likely. Same thing with being a mom or dad. If you only live, think, and breathe parenting, I think most people I know would agree that you're not being the best mom or dad you are capable of being. When you can complement your ever-present job of parenting with whatever other activities make you who you are then you are not only being a terrific role model for your little ones, but you're markedly improving your odds of being a great parent. If you painted or yoga-ed or wrote or volunteered or gardened or enjoyed dinner out with friends before you had babies, at least some of those interests probably still live on and I think including  them in your days helps make you whole and real and interesting. Pursuing one thing with single minded dedication may work in the short-term but it's not sustainable and we need to nurture our whole selves in order for the best parts of us to shine. It's always hard to find the time, sure, and it's easier said than done, sure but people are creative and smart and have probably managed hard things before (and grandparents are often willing participants in this scheme).

4. It's easy to get in a rut. One of the best feelings, I think, is when you take an unexpected turn or find a new road or route or path and you run down it without knowing exactly where you are (but aren't completely lost and flailing). I try to almost never plan my runs before I go because I like to see where my time and energy will take me. Sometimes it's a familiar route, sometimes it's a shorter or longer deviation on something I've done before, and sometimes, I change direction from my intended direction as soon as I walk out the door. I think, like being a mom, that we can fall into habits because they feel comfy and easy and worked before but we don't adapt with our moods, our kids' moods, or the changing environment. We think that because we turn left there every time, that we always need to turn left. We don't always have the faith in ourselves that we should try new techniques or activities or plans; we don't always believe that we are capable creatures who can and need to adapt with the times as the go a changin'. My little people are young enough still that no stage lasts very long and if I don't change my route as they become more capable or more logical or more emotional then I'm in a rut that serves no one. Being comfortable with change and changing things up has got to be high on the list in the parental handbook... now, if I could just get a copy of that handbook like I've asked for so many times, that would be really great.

3. You need new shoes regularly. That one is self-explanatory and ever so true. In running and in parenting, new shoes just make everything better. End of story.

2. Not every run is a great one, but it is still an accomplishment. Some days, you wake up and really don't want to don your sassy spandex. You would far prefer to be in jammies (or comfy cozies, as Molly calls them) and eat some of those bon bons that you've heard so much about. And while sometimes on those days, getting out the door and pounding the pavement is just what you needed and you have a fantastic outing, sometimes it's not and you have a blah, uninspiring run. But you did it. You showed up and you did it. Same is true with being with your kids. Some days, especially those that start at 5-something a.m., I may want to hide under the covers and not get up and pick oatmeal out of Jack's eyelashes again. It's not that I don't want to be with my little people, necessarily, but like in any job, we have our good days and our bad. Accepting that we have down moments when we snap or yell or wonder out loud (oops) what the heck possessed someone to draw a full-on mural on the bathroom wall next to the potty or start telling the small ones that daddy will be home soon when it's only 4pm, well those aren't the days that will win any mother of the year awards. But, they happen, they are real, and the won't ever go away so we might as well give ourselves credit for showing up and doing the best we can then and there. I suspect that we all have idealized moms-we'd-like-to-be but that's not reality because we're blessedly human and humans aren't built for perfection. And you know what, those bad runs or bad days are fuel and momentum for the next run or day because no one wants to have two bad outings in a row.

1. You need a partner to achieve the best results. I have come to firmly believe that you need a wingman, be it a spouse, cousin, mother, friend, whatever, in both endeavors to really do your best. You need someone to set goals with, to check in on your progress with, to help pick you up when you're feeling stuck or unmotivated, to provide motivation or support to, to reality check with, and, perhaps most importantly, to share the pains and the joys, the highs and the lows with. I think when you become an island, you aren't really giving it your all and ultimately not serving anyone well. We can be really rotten at recognizing our biggest strengths and weaknesses and we're not terribly critical observers of our own behaviors. Achieving a goal or doing something well or being creative can be an amazing reward on its own but when you do it with someone or as part of a team, I think it almost always feels even better. The journey becomes part of the reward, too, and it's fun to look back and tell stories and have jokes with someone and let's face it, telling a joke that only you get is never funny.

So, as cliched as those may be, I wanted to write them down... and now maybe I can finally stop thinking of the correlations between running and parenting during my next run. In addition to being a sweaty tomato, I think I've also had a ridiculous grin on my face for the past week when I've been out there and I think "oh, there's another one!".

And now, if you've been impatient for me to finish my babbling, here are the little (and one big) people doing what they do best...

Rocking out with Johnny Jingles (and cheap beer -- a dearly missed option in Canada).

These are some of Jack's favorite things:

 - stickers in his hair (not really, but it is a service often provided to him by someone free of charge)

- carbs

- pretending not to know that I cave whenever he flashes his big eyes and dimpled grin at me

What She Said

I'm a big Anna Quindlen (and a Motherlode blog) fan and this post was no exception (I took out the forward but it's nice, too). I thought it was worth taking a gander at... enjoy.

GETTING TO THE POINT
By Anna Quindlen

Oh, I loved having babies. The smell, the feel, the … well, I liked the stupidity of them. The way they grabbed their own feet and then looked perplexed at the fact that they somehow felt it in their bodies. The way they’d be entranced by sunlight or ringing phones or the thrum of the dishwasher. There’s a popular YouTube video that shows a baby in near-hysterical laughter because someone is tearing up a piece of paper. That’s babies all over. Why paper? Why tearing? Who knows?

And toddlers — they were great, too. The way they would march across the lawn once they acquired motor skills, then run back to the shelter of mom legs, then sally forth again. The way they would mangle their words and chew their consonants and name things obsessively: Hot dog. Big bird. Good boy. The way they would dress themselves and then wind up looking as though they’d done so in the dark, color-blind. The way they would catch you if you tried to skip a sentence or two in a beloved book: “That’s not right!” They had such a strong sense of fairness and no filter at all. “That man is fat!” they would say, then be perplexed by the notion that there was anything wrong about that.

I loved having elementary school kids, holding their pencils like etching tools as they worked out a subtraction problem on lined paper, their faces scrunched. It was great how they would work out more complex matters, too, realize that one of their classmates was not now nor was ever going to be a good person, understand that when they hurt someone else they might also wind up hurting themselves. You could read human progress through the tears. The tears of a baby are often a reflex, for a toddler almost always the fruit of frustration or fatigue. The tears of a child begin to be the tears of knowledge. The older heart is more breakable.

Which brings us to teenagers. Ah. This is where I am supposed to admit defeat, but I just can’t. As hard as it was, as challenging as they could be, I really liked having teenagers. Some of that was about me, not them; I can’t really remember what it was like to be a little kid, but I remember very well what it was like to be a teenager. So when one of them would blow an assignment or a curfew, say something stinging or thoughtless, I would usually think: I would have done that, or, sometimes, I did. Besides, the smarts and the cool helped make up for it. I know about music and movies and slang I never would have known about otherwise. The house was full of snap crackle and pop. There were always kids at the dining room table, and if the dishes sometimes didn’t get done — well, I definitely remembered having left dirty dishes in the sink, too.

I don’t have babies anymore, or kids, or teenagers. I have adults, with their own dishes and their own sinks — and, I suspect, their own sinks of dirty dishes. The house is not always full of snap crackle and pop. But here’s my bottom line on this continuum for any woman bemused or becalmed or bedeviled by any part of it: it just keeps getting better.

Oh, don’t mistake me: I still miss breastfeeding, and having someone holding my hand when we cross the street, and high voices in sleepy conversation over the baby monitor from the bedroom. I miss laying down the law, enforcing arbitrary rules, having some modicum of control.

The old arsenic hours were when the homework was done and the squabbling began and there was still an hour until baths and bed. (Once, I remember, I lied and said it was 8 p.m. at 6:45 just to get them out of my hair. Note to the mothers of young kids: don’t buy digital clocks.) The new arsenic hours are when I’ve knocked off work for the day in an empty house and have a cup of herbal tea and an hour of whatever’s on the DVR before my husband shows up for dinner. Occasionally, if the universe is feeling merciful, I will hear the dogs bark as the door downstairs opens, and a voice will call, “Mom?” And my heart sings.

I regret being pinkslipped from my 24/7 Mom job, although there were times over the years when I thought the inexorability of it would kill me. But it’s hard to imagine anything better than right now: the family dinner with the five of us, all talking about politics, books, work, friends, and one another. It’s hard to imagine anything better than three smart and insightful people who live in the same city we do, who make me remember that there was a point to the whole exercise, and the point was this.

I couldn’t wish for more than that. Except for grandchildren, of course. But that’s another story for another time.

from: http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/03/22/the-best-part-of-parenting/#more-20249

Egress Excitement

Some people have night nurses, some people have daytime babysitters, some people have mother's helpers... well, I'm looking for a get-out-of-the-house savior. I'm not that picky -- it could be a little goblin or elf, it could be a fairy princess, heck, it could be a real person who magically appears when we need to go somewhere. I need help, though. I hate the whole gosh dang process. I'm telling you, getting an infant and a crazy toddler out was approximately 1000 times easier than getting these two little people out now. First of all, trying to drag Molly away from a creative pursuit is an exercise in pulling my hair out. I've done five minute warnings of our departure time, I've done timers, I've done handshakes, I've let her pick her ending point on a coloring project, I've decided not to go anywhere, I've pleaded and cajoled (that's worked super well), I've lost my marbles... it's painful almost every time. And then, THEN, if we somehow make it close to the door, it's like I've got a goldfish on my hands who can't seem to remember the task at hand for more than eight seconds at a time without wandering off to find something more interesting than a crazy mom who is sweaty and red faced and taking deep breaths until she's hyperventilating (and writing run on sentences). I usually move on to Jack at this point and just try and get one success story under my belt (and pretend that I have any control) but when I look up, Molly is usually asking me what I said to her like I've totally confused her. I need what on my feet? What are these sneakers of which you speak?A jack-what? Jack-et? Hat? What is this madness? I'm fairly sure that I have committed every parental sin in an effort to get anywhere even close to on time (a challenge before I had two people running in two different directions). I'm not letting Jack off the hook either... chasing him down and keeping him in the same vicinity of the door is like herding cats, which you may remember from previous posts, is one of my favorite things to do. Once we manage to launch ourselves out the door, I'm inevitably met with shouts of joy to be out of the house -- there are puddles to stomp in, grass to run in, mud to slip on -- it's glorious every time. Now, I just need to remind my little forgetful goldfish of that before Battle: LA gets a sequel Battle: Doyle Front Door. On the other hand, maybe my kids are pushing me to try out for the sequel to Mars Needs Moms since I clearly look like I belong there when departure time rolls around...


Below is our latest and greatest object in my love/hate crosshairs as it relates to the above issue. One rainy afternoon a few weeks ago, I decided to make Molly a cardboard box house. Goodness knows that we have more cardboard than a cardboard farm right now so I thought I'd put some to good use. Well, it was a hit... and it still is a hit and is 90% of the reason that we cannot exit the premises in an orderly fashion right now. This house is intricately decorated and gets more so by the minute... especially the minutes that we are supposed to be out the door. My patting myself on the back for giving Molly this little gem of personal space (it's her house and I put it in the office, which is supposed to be off limits to Jack because of  the damage he has wreaked on my b,s,g, and h keys on my keyboard... which are sitting nicely next to my computer...) has turned into me slapping myself upside the head. It works great when it provides quiet entertainment and breathing room but it is IMPOSSIBLE to drag her away from it because really, who can tell an artist when her masterpiece is done? When we make it to the car and everyone is strapped in, I sometimes review the madness (or I review my mindfulness exercises and live in the big, beautiful world of denial) and tell myself that having dedication and curiosity and spunk is a good thing and I should be proud of my wandering, questioning, slightly intense duo. Other times I wonder if I can do all my errands for the next 35 years in the next hour so that I don't have to leave the house ever again... or at least not until summer when jackets, shoes, and hats are a little more optional.

Here And Now

My jumble of thoughts for today...

Does anyone else's kid randomly repeat whole sections of books? I'm not asking this to try and showcase that my kid is super duper amazing or anything (although she would agree with that sentiment)... I'm actually asking because it can be very disconcerting to be making toast and suddenly hear "Grandpa's had what's called a stroke, etc." or "Is this a home? I've always wanted a home, etc." or "Dad is sad/very, very sad/he had a bad day/what a day dad had, etc.". WHAT? I've started to listen long enough to figure out what story things are coming from  (okay, the rhyming ones I can catch on to pretty quickly). It's funny, but really, quite disconcerting when she has entire conversations with herself because she says half a book at a time. It's like I'm living in some alternate universe. Maybe this is a preview for teenager-hood when I really will be living in an alternate universe.

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When we first moved down to Seattle, I was looking for snow suits for the little people since they were growing out of their current gear. I ended up never getting my act together and ordering them, thus proving to myself that being a giant procrastinator can actually be a great way to save money. Snow suits? Bah. Rain gear, yes please. Molly has never worn out a pair of shoes; she grows out of them before they're really destroyed. We've already worn and torn through one pair of rain boots, though, and she and I were lucky enough to spend Sunday afternoon tromping around (luckily it wasn't raining) looking for new boots that keep her tootsies dry and showcase her personality. Crazy polka dots summed her up pretty well. One of the best finds of all for rain, though, was actually in our closet -- a rain suit that Nana had given Molly last year. Although slightly hazmat-ish in appearance, it's a perfect outfit for the warm, rainy (read: mud) season that we're currently enjoying. We're not up for letting a few drops get in our way of being able to run around outside and this thing is the perfect accessory for that fun.

Apparently, I only can retain two thoughts at a time... I had more random things to write about but they have all fluttered away...

Never have a set of pictures better captured what my kids are currently all about. Jack is clearly enthralled with a plane in the sky and is not even aware of the madness moving behind him. Molly is, well, just running and focusing on her new soccer obsession. This pretty much sums up life right now. A picture really is worth a thousand words.

Here is one of the greatest creations known to man. One can run, slide, slip, blow bubbles, tumble, and roll all the while staying toasty and dry.

This has nothing to do with anything other than being an epic case of not understanding how something is supposed to work. 

Helllllo Ladies

Sometimes I make myself laugh really hard. This was one of those times. Jack is all dressed up like a big dude but he's really just my little guy (the binky may give it away, too).

Nana Comes To Town

It's always fun to have grandparents come visit and always sad when they leave. Nana came out to Seattle for an extra long weekend and it meant some local adventures, lots of giggles with cousins, and some good, old fashioned attention-basking. We are very thankful that the little people know and see and adore their grandparents as often and as much as they do and I know that mom and dad also love their visits. An extra set of hands and eyes and hearts -- yes, please. Mary, Polly, and I also got to sneak out for a ladies afternoon, which was lovely and rejuvenating. We also went up to the top of the Space Needle, which was my first time there, and it was nice to check off that box in our "tourist in our own backyard spreadsheet" (no, we don't really have one but I'm thinking we should). We lucked out with good weather, good company, and lots of good cheer.

Thankfully, Jack roped someone else into his Hop On Pop obsession. 

Molly didn't let Jack have all of the attention for too long. Oh nooooo. 

Put on a happy face. 

Nana's visit also left a little more time for me to spend quality time with Mr. Drooly Pants... guess what we're doing? Yup, reading Hop On Pop. 

Having a visitor also means having those pictures taken with actual parents in them. 

The three musketeers.

Molly and Emmy calling out to the poor, poor people below. Joke may be on them, though, since I think they were actually just yelling into an empty grate. 

Dads and daughters. 

Here is our house if anyone is interested -- thanks for taking that pic, Nana!

See you soon -- the welcome mat is always down!