My gradual descent and saving myself from it

I noticed today while packing up the Christmas tree and decorations that my day-to-day life has become way too housewifey. Somehow, I was cooler when my kid was a tiny baby. Somehow, I've gotten dragged into a situation where I am doing an awful lot of cleaning and picking up, reorganizing of the house—and too, too many trips to the grocery store and Target.

Enough!

I hereby declare, with 2010 upon us, that I will return to my bohemianism and get in touch with myself. And myself is not a housewife.

Not that there's anything wrong with it.

No, I chose to quit my job after maternity leave to stay home with my little one. I chose to take the salary cut and the cut from connection with lots of grown-up people each day to work from home in my spare time. But, somewhere along the line I started doing more housework, and this, I do not like. I don't know if its because housework is one of the few things that is relatively easy to do when you have a toddler/preschooler around, because they either like to help, or they think that you are playing, OR if its because there is more of a need for it with all the messes that toddlers/preschoolers make, but it has taken over my life. And housework makes me want to drink...and get high...because, it is boring! Even playing with a toddler/preschooler, to me, is probably less boring than housework, but it is sometimes less gratifying, or, maybe I am just compelled to do the work because I see this mess building around me all the time and I am obsessive/compulsive like that. But, I often feel like I have spent the whole day picking up stuff and cleaning and thinking, man, if only I didn't have to pick up and clean so much I'd be able to spend more time actually playing with my kid.

This is what it's come down to? I lament the fact that I do too much housework to play with my kid? What happened to learning guitar and Portuguese? (These things I mentioned to a friend I would do in my "spare" time during my sabbatical from work, staying home with my kid, of course, while I freelanced, too...WTF was I thinking?!?)

The worse parts of all this are that I have gotten too fat and I have turned into a bitch. Being around here all day, making countless mini meals for someone who doesn't seem to like anything but yogurt and cookies (OK, I am exaggerating) and eating and drinking out of boredom and frustration has added up. As for being a bitch, without a decent release, without good breaks or good mental maintenance, I blame my husband for my discontent. If he would only pick up his shit...if he would only this...only that....I hate myself for all this. It's not his fault I'm a nut.

I kind of feel like I've turned a corner just by making these observations, but, what to do next? What direction can I take, now that I have saved myself by seeing the problem state that I've arrived at? I'll have to think about that. I will probably blog a bit about some things I've been wrestling with over the past couple weeks of the holidaze, and then usher in the New Year with some kinda fresh attitude I hope will last.

Revelations from everyday entertainment

Last night we watched 5oo Days of Summer and it dawned on me...I actually love my husband!

Of course, this is something I should already know, but, I am often highly annoyed with him (probably my problem, not him) and I often (in the past, before my recent decade-end epiphanies) have felt at my wit's end. BUT, now that I have seen this movie, I know I love him.

First of all, I will say, the movie was cute, not the greatest movie, not the worst. The leading man vacillated between mildly cute and wholly unappealing. It almost made me dislike Zooey Deschanel until I reminded myself she was just playing a role. (Because I have to like her, as a frequent collaborator with musical fave M. Ward.) But, at the end, I was like...damn, I guess I do love my husband.

Because, when they were showing the parts where the guy was rethinking their relationship and remembered her irked smirk when he showed her a Ringo Starr record (she had told him Ringo was her favorite Beatle) and when she was like, I am tired, I just want to go be by myself....I thought, I never would feel that way about my guy. Even when I am totally pissed at him, I am never repulsed...and she looked repulsed...like she wanted him gone. Even when I am sooooo very annoyed, I still want to snuggle. He still is...my life. It is so weird! He would never gross me out. And watching this movie, I could see why Zooey Deschanel would be grossed out by this guy. He is so needy and so adoring of her when he doesn't even seem to really get her. My husband on the other hand is attractively detached. At times, I may feel like he does not know, care about or respect the real me...but he's not cloying about a me he doesn't know.

Weird. I know. Must be chemistry. It seems, he will never gross me out. Ever.

Going Underground

Regular visitors to this blog (all three of you—ha!) may notice a change in our banner. We are going underground and going anonymous! So...you don't know me. Shhh.

I am going to lay it all out now and use this blog for therapy—I need it. There are some things I need to sort out and things I need to say and hash out that might even provide content for future, more-developed pieces. At first, some of it may be ugly...but I think, eventually, it will help me be a better person. I just need to get some of that stuff out before I move on. Like cleaning house. And my poor husband has heard so much of it that he has become numb to it. And it doesn't really matter to me who hears it...it's just that I need to get it out and the semi-anonymous format of a blog is what fits me right now, I like to type and be on the computer more than writing in notebooks, for one thing.

So, here goes...

Update

I think I am in one of my lulls again. So much to say, but then again, not so much.

I won a $10 Starbucks card for my cupcakes—one of the very cards I went and purchased for prizes for the event, but my cupcakes were chosen anonymously for the prize. Nobody knew whose they were.

I was going to write about how I feel like an outsider amongst the suburbanites who have money and are into decor and other bourgeois stuff...but that doesn't sound quite right.

I am in a phase where I am wanting to be more inside myself and live a more private life, so may have another lull for a while.

Having your cake and eating it, too

I'm always coming across little things on Babble.com that annoy...I guess the subjects of Motherlode and Judith Warner's Domestic Disturbances on the New York Times' site are just too serious, or frustrating (I don't think not using federal funds for abortions is a symptom of widespread misogyny, sorry!), for me to synthesize responses to. And, in keeping with my pledge to blog more about things that are actually close to home (my life), it was timely to see this post on Babble where some fake career woman wrote in a letter about not wanting to make stuff for the school bake sale.

I say "fake" because it was one of those advice column things and she was asking if she should "raise a stink" or not about being asked to bake something, because, the men weren't asked (how sexist!) and she was so busy with work (how very important she must be).

I guess there are two kinds of people in the world, whether feminist or not, moms or not, men or women—those who like to bake and those who do not like to bake. Me, I like to bake. I love to bake. And I love having the opportunity to bake something and not have to eat the whole damn thing myself or worse, throw it away in three days when it dries out. So, I was very happy to sign up to make something to donate to my daughter's preschool for the "cake walk" at a little "fun fair" they are having tonight. For a couple tickets, the kids can participate in a musical-chairs kind of thing where they walk around colored pictures and when the music stops, if they are on a certain square, they win a cake (or cupcakes, as the case may be...my "Constellation Cupcakes" are pictured here...the event had an outer space theme).

Of course, I, too, am busy. I have a toddler who only goes to preschool a couple days a week. I have a freelance design practice with deadlines and such. Whatever. Even when I worked full time outside of the home I enjoyed making holiday cookies to bring into the office.

The point is, I believe we can all find time to do something nice that will delight and make people smile. Maybe baking is not her thing (this woman who wrote in). That's fine. Why not just say so and ask if there was some other way she could help. Maybe they need signs or something? Maybe they need someone to sit at the bake sale table for an hour. She wanted to just write a check and be done with it and that's fine, too. But, then she shouldn't complain about being an "outsider" among parents and feeling shunned—although I suspect that many people who feel this way are just projecting.

These silly things like bake sales and school activities where everyone pitches in with some hokey active contribution help build community. I got involved early because I want to be in the mix for my daughter. It's very likely I will have only one child, so I want to plant the seeds early of connections with other parents, families and kids so that she will feel part of a community. Parts of the process of being involved in the fun fair (I helped with other aspects than just making cupcakes) were a little annoying for a type-A, e-mail addict like me—with multiple-day lags in communication, trails of unanswered questions and a very, uhm...organic...work flow process. BUT, it was good for me to be forced to be part of something kind of amorphous and more laid back that I am used to, and something that I am not in charge of...and to see it all work out, with happy kids and families having a fun time together (hopefully, we will see how it pans out tonight).

For those parents who are too busy to lend a little hand to their kids' schools, and yet feel like outsiders, I say, you can't have your cake and eat it, too, if you can't even be bothered to make a cake. But of course, it doesn't have to be cake. Find a way you can be part of things—even if its small, make it meaningful and make it more than throwing money at the school. Make an impression. Be part of the community.

Why I don't want my child to be "gifted"

A couple posts I saw on Babble this week have got me thinking about "gifted" kids, learning, and society. And, I'm convinced, I want my child to do well, but I'm not so sure about being "gifted."

That's such an odd term. Like "well-endowed" or something. It makes me laugh and wince a little bit at the same time. Especially when I think of the range that could cover, like the "idiot savant" (whatever that is) or the Rainman types or the autistic kids who can play Chopin flawlessly. I just kind of want my kid to be normal. Smart, but normal. See, I was what people might have thought of as "gifted". I seem to recall testing at a 135 150 IQ (I asked my my and she told me it was 135) when I was 8 or so and they skipped me out of 3rd grade at the beginning of the schoolyear into 4th grade (it's called being double-promoted). It was just weird. I liked getting away from my old classmates who made fun of me a lot and into a new class where they were nicer. But, I still never felt like I belonged. And, in the end, when it took me 10 years to finish a Bachelor's degree, that one year advantage ended up not really counting at all.

So, I look at my girl now and I see she is definitely smart. She's very verbal, she is curious, she makes interesting connections and likes to explore. She was an early walker. She's precocious, and yet shy around new people. We talk about letters and numbers and things, but casually. It's not like I'm teaching her anything. We're just living life, and life involves letters and numbers and things and making connections. I have magnetic letters, bathtub letters, flashcards with letters, and we have them out sometimes, but even if I think I am going to go through and do some kind of organized lesson, it always turns into something else. It's very organic. It's very "2-year-old" and it is so appropriate. I love it! We have an abacus. We count sometimes, but whenever it approaches being forced, it backfires. I think this is something I love about toddlers, these 2-year-olds, specifically. They are so free, so in-the-moment and so cool and open about the connections they make and they way they want to do things. Who am I to impose some false sense of order on the scene? I can set the stage, but if she wants to take it somewhere else, then I should see where it goes rather than hold her in. There will be a developmental stage where ordering things is part of what she wants. To some degree, there already is, it's just a different kind of order than what my mind would have. I have to sit back and learn as she learns, and respect the mind of the 2-year-old, and try to plant the seeds to remind myself to do this throughout her whole life. And let her be who she is.

So, getting back to being "gifted" versus being just regular. I am never going to hold anybody back and I am going to do all I can to nurture my girl's talents. But, I am not going to freakishly push her to be something out of touch with everybody else. I have always felt like an outsider and I don't know that I think that is so great. I want my girl to feel like she belongs, if she wants to. A person can excel and make something of themselves without being so above and beyond and different. Sometimes the sense of connectedness with peers can contribute to a person's wellbeing and achievement, too. And, with the strong likelihood that she will be an only child, I want to carefully guard against her being the lone, freak genius who nobody really knows or gets.

She already talks about her friends at preschool. When we go somewhere with kids playing, she often says, I love these kids. She wants to be part of something. Yet, when we are on the playground or in a playgroup, she often is on the sidelines or playing independently. Already. That might just be an age/development thing, though. I guess the bottom line is that my philosophy on the health of my child is to not nurture the "giftedness" to a the point that separates them from their peers or a healthy, social and cultural sense of community and belonging. I know they don't have to be mutually exclusive, but they often are. And, as much as being "misunderstood" can provide material for the artist or excuses for the genius, it can be a very lonely, sad place.

Pride cometh before a fall

OK, not pride, exactly, but, acknowledgment of happiness?

That seems to be what's going on. Immediately after my post about how great my life is, things start to get ugly with my girl. I guess it's not so bad, even ugly with this angel is not all that bad, but still. I am nursing a Belgian trippel to get through this day of no gym, no preschool, all toddler, all the time. I fear at the end of the day it will only make me tired and cranky—like her? Well, then, at least I will be able to empathize.

It seemed to start on Monday when I had the bright idea of an outing downtown to museums. She likes trains, yay! We rode the Metro, but she insisted on getting out, like a million stops before our destination. I thought I'd let her self-direct a little and play things by ear. Big mistake. We ended getting out at Foggy Bottom when we needed to get out way over by Judiciary Square or Gallery Place. I thought we'd go to Starbucks, hang out a little, then get back on a train to the museums then lunch with Dad. But, of course, at Starbucks she wanted to have her Vivianno outside. It was cold and too breezy and none of the tables outside were set up (for good reason). To make a long story short, we wandered around climbing on curbs, looking in flower boxes and otherwise wasting time til I couldn't take it any more. Then we finally got to the Navy Memorial where the relief scultpures kept her busy long enough to get us to lunch time. At lunch, she didn't eat much (another thing driving me crazy about her lately) but just wanted to climb around. After lunch, we finally made it to the Building Museum and she played a little. Sigh of relief. But the whole thing was so exhausting and not what I expected. Play date with preschool people Tuesday. Gym and random stuff Wednesday. Preschool Thursday—thank god!

Something is wrong with her today, since yesterday afternoon. She's not terribly sick. No fever. At least, she didn't have a fever when I checked yesterday, with the rectal thermometer, much to her protest. Just last spring she didn't care about such things, but she has already grown to know that butts are private and people shouldn't stick things in them against your will, and so it feels really awkward to try and cajole her into allowing this. She's too young, of course, to hold it under her tongue. I should probably get one of those quicky ear ones, but not now. She doesn't feel feverish. I was sick and didn't have a fever, just a cold. So, I think she has what I had. She keeps whining, and whining, and whining, except for when she's running around playing. I can't figure her out. She whines that she has to go poo poo. I think she is having some kind of tummy troubles. I can't say she's constipated because she did go yesterday. Once she goes today, things will be better, I know. I give her all the things that are supposed to make you poop and help your tummy...fiber...yogurt...and the things that make her happy and stop her whining, temporarily at least.

She's been asking to nurse like crazy. I obliged a couple days but I have to cut back. Not at this age. It's too damn much. It's got to be only for naps and going to bed. And then, even that has to go within the next six months or so. I am not going to be nursing a 3-year-old for god sakes!

When I went to the gyno yesterday, the doc practically laughed at me when I mentioned I was still nursing, when discussing birth control options. I was sick of the damn mini-pill, with its long, frequent and irregular periods and was ready to go on the regular pill with the no-period-for-three-months schedule. I am one of those sporty, sex-interested women who cannot STAND being held down by something like a period, which, before pregnancy lasted about 3 days for me, but now, lasts the full 5 days and is a royal pain-in-the-ass. She told me it was fine to go on the regular pill but it would decrease my milk supply. I was curious about how much, because, I said, I want to help boost my girl's immunity through the winter. And the doc was like, you've done all you can do for her immunity already! Like, give it up, woman. And, maybe she's right. Maybe she's wrong. But, whatever comes of it, that's fine. I do need to wean.

Anyway, I hope, once she wakes up from her nap, she will eat something, take a shit and be in a good mood. My mother in law is coming tomorrow and I don't want her to see us like this.