It’s November.

11Nov09

(The title of this post should be read in the voice used for the It’s Lindsay lead-in on The Soup. You watch The Soup, right? If not, you should. Hilarity).

I posted on November 1, which… well, that was mostly an accident, really. You know what that means though, right? I’ve pretty much got myself into a feeling of “hey, I blogged on a Sunday! That means I should participate in NaBloPoMo!”

But nope. I’m resisting. I really don’t need another obligation on my plate right now, but I am thrilled for all of you who are participating because it was a pretty great experience last year. I will be writing a lot, though, even if it doesn’t all live and breathe here in this forum.

last week, I picked a story back up from some character notes I’d written years ago – again, something I found in the boxes in our office. It’s a character study really; I’m not sure that it’s anything that will develop into a real story, but I may use this month as an excuse/obligation to work more on it and see if I can flesh it out, coax it to life. It’s been so long since I attempted any type of fiction – maybe this is a great time to do so. Maybe my non-participation in NaBloPoMo will be my excuse.

As a side note – I really need to either repair my laptop or pull the files from it. There are a lot of ideas and thoughts contained there, and pawing through all the boxes I found has got me curious about what’s on there as well. Iremember bits of it, but I know I’d find a few surprises.

:::

So Christmas is coming. I’ve succeeded in angering some of the people in my office by putting up our Christmas tree. I swear, sometimes my life is really more like an episode of The Office than I care to admit, and that’s all I’m going to say about that. In my defense, it’s because our company adopts a family at Christmas, and we pull gift tags from the tree to choose gifts to provide for them. I’m just trying to give everyone some time, people! Time to shop, buy, whatever.

I myself have already started wrapping, and that feels fantastic. I’ve been a big old slacker the past two years (see: category “Madeline”) and am determined not to fall into the same trap this year.

I love the holidays, though. I really do. They were always fabulously fun at my house growing up, and I’m determined that Madeline will have the same experience.

:::

Speaking of holidays… what are your Christmas gift-giving rules for your kids?

I’m asking because it’s been very difficult not to go overboard. Very. I’ve kept a list of everything that I’ve bought for Madeline (since it’s getting wrapped as it comes into the house and would be easy to forget) and it’s – longish. Maybe longer than it should be for a 22-month old girl.

Last year was easy. She was 10 months old! What does a 10-month old really like, or want, anyway? She liked to be read to; we bought her some books. I felt that she needed a New Large Plastic Object since her gym had been outgrown, and so we bought her the Laugh & Learn Kitchen (which was admittedly money well spent as she’s still playing with it a year later).

 There were a few other things (most notably, the lovely engraved ornament we chose for her and her Christmas stocking – oh, I am nothing if not sentimental) but it was easy to be restrained, because she was a baby and had everything she needed. More than she needed. Jimmy and I went shopping one evening to accomplish all this, and were satisfied that we wouldn’t spoil our child. We decided that each year we’d go shopping together to choose an ornament for her – something that represents a bit of her year. When she’s bigger, she can come along; hopefully, it will turn into one of those family “things” that we just do together.

Now… this year? I feel like all that’s gone out the window. She is a person now, with distinct likes and dislikes, and she’s so easy to shop for. Her stocking is complete, full of Elmo fun; I’ve assembled the big-girl kitchen we bought her. I’ve wrapped the rest of her presents, but I keep thinking of (and seeing) things she may like.

I am picked up what I have determined to be her last gift at Target a few nights ago. Unless I can find a nice child-size table at this weekend’s Mom-to-Mom sale. Then, she will get that as well. Otherwise, I’m calling it done, because really – her birthday is coming too!

So how do you stick to a list for your kids? What’s your strategy? Educate me, please.


Filed under: Madeline, family   |  7 Comments
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snapshot: naptime

10Nov09

Overheard from the living room:

“Dada? DADA! DADA seeping? Shhh, Dada seeping. DADA! DADA! Wake up! Wake up, DADA!”

I hear indistinct mumbling, then “Hi Maddie, what’s up?”

“Dada, you SEEPING?”

“I was, yeah,” he says, laughing a bit.

“WAKE UP!” I can see this in my mind and know from experience that she’s probably about two inches from his face.

“Okay, okay,” I hear him mumble.

Five minutes later I head into the room, where all is quiet. Madeline is sitting in front of the couch; Jimmy is asleep, covered with her silky blanket.

“Shhh,” she tells me. “Dada seeping.”


Filed under: Jimmy, Madeline, parenting   |  4 Comments
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livin’ on a prayer

09Nov09

We started saying prayers with Madeline consistently this month. We’ve always said them at mealtimes, and in her dayhome she knows the prayer that they sing before meals, but this past month or so we’ve begun the bedtime routine as well. It’s nothing elaborate; simply:

Angel of God, my guardian dear
to whom God’s love commits me here.
Ever this day, be at my side
to light, to guard, to rule, to guide.
Amen.

Madeline pipes in with some of the words, particularly “amen” which she likes to repeat over and over, some nights shouting it, others mumbling it into my shoulder.

Afterward we go through a list of “God bless”s, something that my mom always did with us when we were little.  I make them up for her at this point; we pray that God blesses: Ahmie and Bampa and Lucy and Murray; Grandma and Papa Jim; Aunt Sarara and Jeremy and Timmy; Aunt Missy and Uncle Keith and Drew; Aunt Fifi; Aunt Amy and Uncle Vince and Caitlyn, Alex, Nick, and Michael (“Mikey!” she always interrupts here. ”Itsa MIKEY!”); Aunt Laura; Uncle Andrew; Nees and Ted; Meme and Taylor.

It’s become part of her routine now; she’s stopped asking where everyone is after I say their name now, anyway. When we rock she asks for “Mo’ payers, pees!” rather than the “Mo’ sing!” that she used to (though we still do that, of course).  

I’ve gotten some raised eyebrows when I’ve told people that we’re saying prayers with her so early, but it just seems natural to me. It was strange to me not to say them with her, now that she’s talking so much. When I was young (and still now) I couldn’t go to sleep without saying my prayers. Each night we’d gather in one of the bedrooms (I shared with Sara; Sophie shared with Laura) and we’d kneel to say our prayers:

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

Four corners ’round my bed,
four angels ’round my head
to watch and guard me while I sleep.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee!
Blessed art thou amongst women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners
now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. Amen.

Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those who tresspass against us.
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory,
forever and ever. Amen.

Angel of God, my guardian dear,
to whom God’s love commits me here.
Ever this day, be at my side
to light, to guard, to rule, to guide. Amen.

Typing that all out, I could hear my mom’s and my sisters’ voices in my head, saying the words along with me. When we were through reciting them, we’d go through a “God bless” list that, depending on the night, could be a mile long. I can still hear that, too, and the common intercessions we’d ask for:

God bless Daddy and bring him home safe.
God bless Grandma and Grandpa, and bring them home safe.

We’d pray for our relatives or friends; for quite some time I recall praying for a family without a name a few towns away, one that our church had adopted for Christmas. I still pray for them, now and then, simply because their “name” pops into my mind.

Of course it helped us to learn our prayers so that we’d have an easier time in cathecism, but there was a learned measure of comfort there as well. I will always, always be so grateful to my mom for taking that time each night – because honestly, now that I’m a mom? Gosh, some nights that must have felt like it took days. I mean, my mom was home alone with us all day, every day. I can only imagine how long some days must have been, and that she took that time to build a foundation – it was good then, but it’s an even stronger lesson now that I have my own daughter to pass it on to.

When I’m feeling fearful I go through those prayers, the familiarity of them a security blanket that no one can take from me. When I am particularly anxious I say the rosary (usually in my head, though I always carry the actual rosary with me, in my purse). The rosary has gotten me through some tough times; I remember lying awake in the dark of my hospital room the night Madeline was born. She was asleep on my chest; I was awake and in pain and more than a little overwhelmed at what had happened. The words came to me and I repeated them over and over. I could hear my mom’s voice, my sisters’, and eventually calm returned.

I hope that one day mine will be the voice in Madeline’s head, repeating those ancient yet familiar words of comfort, of calm and peace.

(If I can be so nosy: What about you guys? Do you pray with your children? Why/why not?)


Filed under: Madeline, family, me   |  6 Comments
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in uniform

08Nov09

I see them everywhere now, in their dress uniforms or in camoflauge. I see them in civilian clothing, feeding from the little cues that show they’re just a bit different. The haircut, the posture, the stance.

It doesn’t matter what branch: Marines, Army, Navy, or Air Force. I see them out and about, with family or alone, and I want to run up and hug them. Hold their hand, tell them thank you.

Leaving the airport last month, I saw the giant yellow ribbon posted at the exit with the words “Welcome Home” written prominently. The airport I flew out of is one that’s welcomed hundreds of soldiers back to the area. Last winter it’s where we welcomed Laura home, holding signs; remembering it brought tears to my eyes.

It’s gotten worse since Laura’s been gone. I see servicemen and women everywhere, but I’ve become more bold. I approach them now, thank them, tell them I appreciate that they’re looking out for me. I never make it personal, I don’t tell them how I hope that strangers are telling my sister the same. I shake their hands.

Mostly they seem surprised, as though their life – their sacrifice - is a given. And I know that, for each of them, it generally is. It’s a calling, I think, a higher purpose. Having watched my little sister grow up through her experience, I can’t think it’s anything but a calling. It is long hours and hard work and lonely months away, all for a purpose that is as noble and good as it is indistinct. Their cause cannot be seen or touched, only felt. It’s a calling.

So I shake their hands. I pray. I smile and thank them and hope that maybe, somewhere, my words return to them when the moments get hard. I hope that where she is, Laura has a store of these same words to buoy her when it’s hard. So thanks, Laura, for keeping us all safe. Thanks for your committment and your strength and for being my sister. Love you.


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gut punch, unintended

05Nov09

(Disclaimer: This is just to get this out of my head. I love my work, and am blessed to work with a fantastic company. This is by no means a dooce-esque entry).

I walked into the building this morning, chatting with a coworker I’d happened to meet in the parking lot. As we walked through the lobby we encountered another coworker who was speaking with security. I called hello to them both, kept walking – and was met with a teasing, “Boy, I wish I could come in at 9am.”

I called back to him – “Yup, and you just have to deliver a baby, pretty sweet deal -” because that is what brought about the change in my daily hours. Before I went on maternity leave, I met with my boss and we decided on 9am-4pm as core hours for me; I could flex around those as necessary. It made returning so much easier – truly, it was a huge blessing. When I was a breastfeeding new mom, it was damn near impossible to (wake, pump, get ready, wake the baby, dress the baby, feed the baby, pump again, gather all her things and get her to her dayhome and then) get to work by 9am, never mind my old 7:45am start time. I’ve kept the 9am start time after a discussion with HR because it is working out well for Madeline and I; also, I’d like to have the option of driving her to school someday (yes, I know that’s way down the road).

I didn’t think much about it until I met him again in the lunchroom, and he brought it up again. He seemed to mean to apologize, and I didn’t really understand why until he said “It’s just funny, you know, to me. Since I get in at 7am others come in so much later, and then most times I see the 9am people leaving well before me. It’s just funny, you know?”

Then I got it. He was apologizing for what he’d been thinking, not what he’d said. I got it, but I don’t think it’s funny. It was an unintentional gut punch, one that’s had me hunched and working furiously all day, trying to make up for something that I never really can. All those extra hours that everyone else puts in, I guess, and I rarely do anymore.

But that’s not really true, is it? I don’t think so. I have a lot of fun in my position, and I pound the hours when it’s necessary. I work hard for the results my department achieves. I am 100% present when I’m at my desk – I’ve learned to compartmentalize and make sure that my time away from my girl is effective, productive.

I can’t expect him to understand. He’s a parent, yes, but his wife is able to stay home with their son. He’s never had to participate in – or even witness – the intricate, delicate dance that is unique to each working parent. I know he’s a great dad – he’s a great guy – and we’ve traded lots of stories about late nights and early mornings and the antics of our children. I genuinely like him, and so I don’t think this was intentional at all. It just highlights the lack of understanding that some of the world seems to have about what it actually is to try to balance all these spinning plates.

I hate having to apologize for this, dammit. I’m trying so hard on all fronts, but it never shows up anywhere. The only thing that people see is what I’m lacking, and that hurts. I know I’m privileged to have all these plates to balance, to spin, to keep aloft. I know this. It’s just – when you get sucker-punched, however unintentionally, it’s so much harder to keep going.


Filed under: working mom   |  5 Comments
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