Archive for the 'breathing' Category

Imagine How Pushy I’ll Be By the Time Jake’s in College

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by
Melissa
on January 20, 2010
in awareness, ayurveda, balance, breathing, change, chattering mind, expectations, letting instead of making, school, the bigger picture, toddler tantrums, trust, yoga class and you can't control everything
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4 Comments

I thought I had it under control.

A couple of years ago I had that breakdown over Jake’s fifteen-month evaluation at preschool — the kind where they determine whether said fifteen-month-old can say anything more than “Mama” and “Dada” and pick up a Cheerio with his fingers.  And that breakdown, I felt, brought me to a place where I could let go of needing to make sure everyone in the world knows that my child is a genius.  Let it go, I told myself, and everyone will figure out he’s in line to win a Nobel Prize one day without you pointing it out to them.

Since then, I’ve become firmly convinced that I’m not one of those mothers who pushes.  He’s in preschool, for goodness sakes, where mostly what he’s learning is that it’s not okay to hit your friend in the head with a bucket (especially when you are on the receiving end) and that “poopyhead” is a potty word that will make your friends crack up and will make adults frown and tell you not to say it before they crack up too.

Plus, I tell anyone who will listen that Jake won’t be starting kindergarten until he’s nearly six because I’d rather he be older than the other kids than younger.  Subtext:  Even if he is a genius, I recognize it will not hurt him to spend that extra year in preschool.  Or a good Montessori school where he’ll probably learn so much he’ll end up skipping first grade anyhow.

And so it was that I was truly pleasantly surprised when the head of Jake’s school told me that he would be moving up to the next class.

Until this weekend, when I found out he’s not moving up quite as quickly as he was supposed to.  And, behold, the pushy mom popped out of my relaxed mom facade like the creature in Alien who, it turns out, was only biding her time, incubating until she could erupt with maximum, frightening force.

Continue reading ‘Imagine How Pushy I’ll Be By the Time Jake’s in College’

Lily Goes Full-Time

Published
by
Melissa
on January 4, 2010
in Mommy time, being connected to everything, being in the moment, breathing, centering, change, daycare, following your heart, sense of self, structure, the bigger picture, too much to do, trust, vacation, work and yoga class
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4 Comments

Today is Lily’s first day of full-time daycare.

Just writing it is making me cry again.  (As is wandering past my bedroom and the empty bed on which she is not napping and knowing that I will not have that unspeakably joyful moment of my day when she first wakes up from her nap and grins at me and I lie next to her pulling her still-sleepy body against me and kiss every part of it I can find.)

It is, I know, time.

I have been spending months injecting little veins of longing to return to the things I have put on hold in my life into the warmth of our mornings together, like the marbles of fat that add richness to those pieces of red meat I have eschewed for the majority of my life.  Maybe that’s why it’s not taking — because I don’t eat red meat the bits of fat that are my longing just aren’t sticking in my gullet.  Instead, they hover out there as a concept that I don’t feel right now.  Time for my own life?  Pshaw.  Who needs it?

And yet I soldier on in a direction I know in my core is right even if my surface emotions — the ones that made me start wailing when I put away a carton of formula this morning in a house empty of her — can’t bring themselves to agree.

I dress her before breakfast.  I pack up lunches for both her and Jake.  I unload on Jake’s teacher in a babble of still-postpartum hormones how I am freaking out about her starting full time.  (”You have to do it,” she says kindly.)  Even when Jake begins to scream and grab onto my leg, even as I walk stoically down the hall away from him abandoning my older child as I prepare to abandon my younger one, I stay on plan.

I drop Lily off with a smile spread across her pudgy cheeks.  When it is time for me to leave, she looks at me for a moment as if she is going to cry, then turns around and gives a shriek of pleasure to the line of doll people her teacher has set up for her and never looks back.  I have to turn off the radio on the drive home because my mind is feeling cluttered and unhinged.  “Just make it home,” I tell myself.  “Write about this.  Start that legal project you’ve been putting off.  Go to a yoga class.”

Now I’m home and I’m writing.  And — I can see the humor in this, like a mediocre romantic comedy — I am still running from my desk to grab a box of tissues, the muscles in my jaw pulling the corners of my mouth into a clown frown as I cry in a hyena-like warble and whine to no one in particular, “I miss my baby!”

Continue reading ‘Lily Goes Full-Time’

Retreat of the December Mom

Published
by
Melissa
on December 31, 2009
in balance, breathing, centering, chattering mind, expectations, grace, intentions versus goals, letting go, letting instead of making, motion, practice, stuck at home with a child, too much to do, vacation and you can't control everything
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I’m still ashamed, even though I now recognize it was a December Mom thing.

There’s simply no excuse for being — I can still recall the out-of-body experience of watching myself do this — the mom screaming across a crowded coffee shop at her child.  “Jake!  Jake!  JAKE!  DO YOU WANT A BAGEL?”  As if no one sits hunched over a laptop trying to experience a little peace and a nice cup of coffee between her and her child.

Yep, that was me.

On that early December Saturday afternoon, I became someone I never thought I’d be.  The mother all us peaceful coffee drinkers hate.  The woman oblivious to the fact that others do indeed occupy the somewhat inappropriate space to which she has spirited her children.

The one who is finally shamed by the sweet older man passing her as she gathers compostable forks and napkins and cups of water simply saying, “Quite a handful, isn’t it?”

Continue reading ‘Retreat of the December Mom’

Turn, Turn, Turn … or Not: What I Learned at Six Months

Published
by
Melissa
on October 2, 2009
in Mama instinct, bed time, breathing, change, communicating, compassion, daycare, expectations, feeding my child, forgiveness, illness, intentions versus goals, letting instead of making, sleep, structure, yoga class and you can't control everything
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3 Comments

“Yep,” Mike confirmed the other day.  “Lily’s acting like a normal baby.”

He said this after our first sunny fall day in the park.  After Lily and I arrived with her pouting in her stroller because I decided that much as she was demanding it I was simply not up to the task of walking to the park with her in the Ergo.  After yet another night of our power struggle over when she got to wake me up to nurse (as opposed to just waking me up) and how many times.  And after I summarily dumped her in Mike’s arms and walked away to chat with some other adults.

There is, of course, nothing wrong with acting like a normal baby when you are, pretty much, a normal baby.  You get to fuss.  You get to yell at your mother for not holding you enough, not nursing you enough, having the audacity to put you down on the floor so she can, say, put on her sweater for a walk to the park.  And you definitely get to refuse to sleep through the night and not care that the books say by six and a half months you probably should be doing so.

I know there is nothing wrong with all of this.  I know — I think I know, I tell myself I know — that just because Lily can be a little grumpy with me now and then it does not mean that she will come to hate me in thirteen or so years.  She will hate me then regardless of what I do right now.

What I’m having some trouble wrapping my mind around, however, is the notion that there is nothing wrong with me responding to her grumpiness with less than perfect equanimity and nurturing sweetness.  There is nothing wrong with telling a baby at one o’clock in the morning that you want to sleep and she should stop crying at you.  Especially if you are offering a tone of voice and a back rub that are a great deal more gentle than the words you are saying because you know she can’t understand them anyhow.

In short, I spent the past several days beating myself up because Lily’s crankiness made me cranky as well.

Continue reading ‘Turn, Turn, Turn … or Not: What I Learned at Six Months’

Be Careful What You Wish For … and then Wish Away

Published
by
Melissa
on May 19, 2009
in balance, being in the moment, breathing, change, chattering mind, expectations, toddler tantrums and you can't control everything
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I don’t suppose I blame the other parents for laughing at me, even though I resented it deeply at the time.

Shouldn’t the sight of a woman holding a screaming infant to her shoulder as a two-and-a-half-year-old clings to her leg crying, “Mommy!  MOOOOOOOMMMMMMYYYYY!” invoke sympathy — nay, even empathy, considering the limited reasons any adult would be hanging out at a playground — rather than snickers with a strong undercurrent of, “Better her than me”?  And when the beleaguered mother erupts, “I can’t carry you!!!  DO YOU HEAR THE BABY CRYING???” you’d think the other adults in the vicinity would have the manners to pretend there is something more interesting to look at in the other direction.

My sister-in-law Maureen valiantly tried to convince Jake that she was just as good at carrying him as his mother, despite having just suffered through a prolonged session of pushing him on a swing (she admitted to finding it as mentally stimulating as I do) while Lily and I rested comfortably on a nearby bench.  But her kindness and patience were paid back by Jake sobbing, “MOMMY!!!!” in her ear as he sadly reached for my unresponsive arms.

This display, I am rather amazed to say, has not been a staple of the past two months that Lily has been in our lives.  It is a recent phenomenon, triggered, I would guess, by the pre-playground morning, when Maureen navigated the stroller ramps of the Nature Center with Lily while I got to be the one carrying Jake, reminding him of just what it’s like to be Mommy’s little boy.

I mean “got to be” in the truest sense of the phrase.  I have been starving for the chance to hold that pale, warm body against mine, to need only turn my head to kiss that firm round cheek, to wrap my arms tight around his ribcage and love, love, love on him.  That his enthusiastic entry into the house at the end of the day generally sets Lily off into a frenzy of “Hold me! Save me!” neediness generally prevents the kind of contact with my son to which I had grown accustomed in our pre-Lily days.

So I complained relatively little about carrying him through the Nature Center (only on the uphills, really).  I coddled him as we picked up picnic provisions in Greenlife on our way to the Nature Center and even let Maureen wear Lily in the sling without breaking out in a single panic sweat.  Instead, I happily relished the sweetness of limping around toting thirty-five pounds of toddler perfectly capable of walking himself.

I should have known I’d pay for it.

But what mostly occurred to me as I tried to shake Jake off my leg in the playground and wished desperately that Lily would stop shrieking was that this scenario was exactly what I had expected with the new baby.  That I had been lucky to escape it thus far.

And, too, that — horrifying as those few minutes may have been — it all became worth it when I finally got Lily in her car seat and pulled Jake to me in a full-body, clinging-to-each-other, drenched-with-love hug.

Continue reading ‘Be Careful What You Wish For … and then Wish Away’

I Like Pink

Published
by
Melissa
on April 3, 2009
in Mama instinct, balance, being in the moment, breathing, centering, expectations, following your heart, grace, letting instead of making and sense of self
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5 Comments

It occurs to me as I type in the title of this piece that I may generate hits from some fans of the singer Pink.  Who seems like a perfectly nice person but isn’t the pink I’m talking about.  On the other hand, I find it fortuitous to have the opportunity to declare “I like pink” to a few extra people, given how many have heard me viciously attack the color pink in the past.

Some context is necessary here.

Starting with my first pregnancy, I had a great fear of pink.  Pink little girl outfits with ruffles and ribbons.  Tiny pink bows that some mothers affix to bald baby heads in a frequently futile effort to make their androgynous babies look feminine.  (”My sister put a pink bow on her daughter’s head,” a friend of mine once told me.  “Strangers told her how cute her little boy was and asked why she put a pink bow on him.”)  Shiny little Mary Janes with paired with pink socks, and sparkly pink princess clothes, and mounds of pink doll-like dresses that I was just certain strangers were waiting to buy for my child if only she turned out to be a girl.

Jake, of course, did not turn out to be a girl.  But even before we found out he would be a boy, we warned our friends and family that the sex of our child would be strictly between me and Mike.  Primarily because we thought it would be nice to have at least one aspect of the pregnancy a private matter between just the two of us.  But, really, what a huge side benefit to know that if we did turn out to be having a girl she could remain free of others’ gender conventions for at least the time she spent in utero.

This time, not only did the rest of the world not know we were having a girl, but we didn’t either, having decided that we had already pondered all the big boy/girl decisions during my first pregnancy (to circumcise or not to circumcise? that is the question) and therefore didn’t need to know the baby’s sex ourselves.  So no worries about the dreaded explosion of pink that I feared would bury both me and my girl baby in a sea of Strawberry Quick colored blankets and dresses.

This child, I thought proudly, would arrive in the world a clean slate, no expectations piled upon … um, her.

As soon as she was a “her,” the pink card showed up on her hospital bassinet.  And I didn’t much care.  Maybe I was already sliding down the slope to my first Lily purchase — the pink Old Navy tee-shirt with the ruffled sleeves and Lucy Toothy decal and the hot pink polka dot pants with the ruffled ankles.

They are far from the last pink items I have purchased.  And even futher from the last ones I will ever buy.

Because, after opening gift upon gift of beautiful pink dresses with, yes, bows (but no ruffles), after oohing and ahhing like the most pink-addled of mothers, after thrilling at how girl-like my three-week-old looks in her pink clothes, it is time for me to admit it.  I like pink.

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“Mommy, Go Work.”

Published
by
Melissa
on January 2, 2009
in awareness, ayurveda, breathing, change, letting go, school, sense of self, surrender, too much to do, vacation, yoga class and you can't control everything
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0 Comments

“Mommy, go work.”

Jake said these words gently, with a firm hand on my knee as if to steady me for the blow of his very first (but, oh, I know, definitely not his last) leave-me-alone-already.

We were in his new classroom, on his first day at the “big kids” preschool across the street from his former pre-preschool.  I had been in the room with him for something over an hour, slowly but surely coaxing him away from my lap, suggesting he interact with the other kids, gently edging my way toward the door.  Proving, in other words, what a great mom I am to anyone who might be watching.  Which was, approximately, no one.

Except Jake.  Who, after a while, felt he had to coax me out of his hair with a gentle “Mommy, go work,” that assured me he was, indeed, okay without me.

I was thrilled.

I mean this in a pure, completely thrilled, not the least bit traumatized by my son’s step toward adulthood way.  After all, I had been far more nervous about his transition to the new school than he was.  He had already visited several times and knew there was a gym with basketball hoops, which is about all he really needs in life.  I, on the other hand, had been struggling with a random comment from a parent I recently met whose son had been through the same class; the teacher, he told me, “is tough.”

Tough on the kids or tough the parents? I wondered nervously.

I had no worries about Jake.  He doesn’t bite or push and apparently follows his teachers’ directions consistently even if he sometimes has something better to do than following his parents’.  In other words, he had nothing to fear from a take-no-nonsense teacher.

No, I was worried about me.  In particular, I spent most of the long drive home from our holidays in St. Louis imagining scenarios in which his new teacher would chew me out for unconscious infractions of the many, many rules a North Carolina preschool apparently must follow to receive state accreditation.  Was I, in fact, worthy of sending my child to preschool?

My hour with Jake in his new class assured me that I was.  His teacher, in fact, was quite kind, and not nearly as tough as some of the ones who had trained me at the pre-preschool.  And so, finally, I found myself able to return my attention to Jake’s well being.  And felt nothing but pleasure when he told me his being was more than just well, thanks very much, and he preferred I leave him to do what two-year-olds do in school.

I should have known it was too easy to last.

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Why I Was Crying in the Target Parking Lot, and Why I Probably Will Again

Published
by
Melissa
on December 18, 2008
in breathing, centering, expectations, following your heart, intentions versus goals, letting go, practice, sense of self, surrender, the bigger picture, too much to do, yoga class and you can't control everything
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I thought I was doing really well on Tuesday.  Last of the holiday packages mailed?  Check.  Requisite single container for the lunches Jake will take with him when he moves up to the big kids’ preschool after the holidays finally located and purchased?  Check.  Checks deposited?  Check, checks.

I was aware that in order to add a Target run to my list of accomplishments and still get to yoga class on time I’d have to hew closely to my shopping list.  A slightly daunting prospect, perhaps, as my usual response upon entering a Target is to turn glassy eyed, start breathing through my mouth, and then head straight to diapers because that is the one thing I can remember I need amidst the expanse of stuff arrayed before me.  But I had my list.  I had my yoga class to make.  I had the one-two punch of a rapidly growing belly and Christmas week in a house full of good food and people eager to nourish the next family member to make yoga class an imperative.

Maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t have picked up the work call that came on my cell just as I was pulling into the Target parking lot.  But, I reasoned, responsibilities must be upheld.  Gifts must be paid for.  And I had my list, for goodness sakes.

At least I can now say I have faced down the challenge of discussing demurrer and motions to compel arbitration while gazing with little comprehension at Dora the Explorer water slides (seasonal?  apparently not), Barbie Wedding Day dolls (never, ever, ever will I buy such a thing for a little girl, no matter how much she begs), and something I thought was called Disney Huggables, which I have just spent way too much time trying to track down online and seems not to exist.  Except in the toy aisles of Target while you are trying to have an intelligent legal conversation in which you hope to convince your client it is worth paying you money for your cogent, if slightly distracted, opinions.

Somehow — I don’t remember quite what moved me — I ended up buying our housekeeper’s daughter a plush dog that boasts a hidden magnet in the vicinity of its mouth so you can “train” it to catch an also-magnetized frisbee.

I’m kind of glad I won’t be there when she opens it, as I now doubt the wisdom of my purchase.

Eventually, my conversation was over, but my shopping was not.  I ditched my cart and ran through the aisles, snatching hard-to-find items like a hole punch and non-Christmasy wrapping paper off the shelves as I rushed by with impressive speed for a pregnant woman.

Naturally I picked the checker who informed me she was closed, and naturally I hit the wrong button when signing for my credit card at the checker who was open, sapping precious minutes from my commuting time.

But finally I plunked myself in the front seat of my car, slightly sweaty and very shaky. I looked at the clock.  Eleven minutes until the start of yoga.  Eleven minutes and a stretch of road going right past the Mall a week and a half before Christmas.

Naturally I started to cry.
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Travels with Toddler (Low Country Edition)

Published
by
Melissa
on October 14, 2008
in Mommy time, balance, being in the moment, breathing, centering, change, expectations, gratitude, inner peace, intentions versus goals, letting go, letting instead of making, partners, practice, stillness, surrender, the bigger picture, traveling with toddler, trust, vacation and you can't control everything
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“Elmo!” Jake crowed the second he saw the portable DVD player set up in the back seat of the car.  Plainly, he was ready for a driving trip, as long as we had Elmo’s Big Outdoors at the ready.

As was I.  After a year of living in the mountains, I was craving some beach time the way the work-at-home mommy me sometimes still craves a particularly stylin’ and youthful outfit I spot on t.v. (because I don’t go out anywhere that I might see stylish outfits on an actual person).  I know I will live if I don’t make it to the beach (or wear that outfit), but my soul cries out that I am slowly crushing it into a dessicated shell of its former self by not fulfilling this aching need.  The former self that presumably lived on the beach and wore great clothes, though I can’t recall any time in my life when I did either with any consistency.

But with the warm days waning, I grabbed my last chance for a lovely long weekend beach idyll with a trip to Hotwire and a score on a great deal at what was advertised as a four-star Marriott in Hilton Head.

That four-star rating was seriously called into question late Friday night when we arrived after a five-hour drive and I carried a pajama-clad, groggy Jake to our room only to find the door propped open.

I shrugged and entered anyhow, shivering a little at the deserted feel of a corner of the ninth floor at midnight.

Then I turned to shut the door and, hmm, it didn’t close.  Didn’t even fit in the doorjamb, in fact.  I am not sure how this can happen to a hotel room door without anyone noticing, but the nice thing about a hotel — or any other building you don’t own, for that matter — is that you don’t have to care.  It’s someone else’s problem.

“Would you like us to send someone up to fix it?” the pleasant-enough clerk asked, when I finally made my way to the front of a rowdy line of hotel guests with other issues to take up at Reception.

“No,” I said somewhat less pleasantly.  “I would like you to give me a room with a door that closes and send someone to fix the other one when I’m not in it.”

We ended up in a lovely room with a working door on the fifth floor.  We didn’t expect a beach view at Hotwire rates, so we were quite happy with our little balcony overlooking the parking lot.  Even though the view that morning — all weekend, in fact — was of clouds and rain.

What had happened to my weekend of soaking up beach, beach, beach?  The ghostly spectre of the Me waiting to stretch out on the lounge chair with a lot of sunshine and a good book hovered in the background, howling with disappointment.

Continue reading ‘Travels with Toddler (Low Country Edition)’

Travels with Toddler

Published
by
Melissa
on September 16, 2008
in breathing, change, discomfort verus pain, expectations, inner peace, letting go, motion, practice, surrender, the bigger picture, toddler tantrums, traveling with toddler and vacation
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0 Comments

In my last post I stressed the importance of bringing along an Elmo DVD if you intend to take a toddler on a four-hour driving trip without another adult in the car who is willing to spend the entire journey twisted around dispensing handfuls of popcorn.

I would now like to point out that the Elmo DVD will do you very little good when your toddler starts freaking out because you are on an airplane.

The trip had begun swimmingly.  Mike dropped me and Jake off at the Asheville airport and watched with, I’m sure, great relief, as swarms of TSA employees helped us make our way through security.  One woman tried to fold up the folding stroller that I was using for the very first time, rendering me of minimal help in offering instructions.  Another employee pointed out that I needed to remove Jake’s shoes as well as my own; I had, in fact, removed one of them before being distracted by the task of folding up the folding stroller.  Another TSA guy took my forgotten laptop out of the bag in which I had left it.  Sippy cups of apple juice, plastic baggie with bottle of hand sanitizer, two sets of shoes, folding stroller, and toddler I could remember to place in the appropriate places.  Laptop, apparently, fell through the cracks.

Once Jake and I had reassembled ourselves, we made our way to the gate.  Where we found that someone intimately involved with the design of the Asheville airport has traveled with a toddler before.  Plopped in the midst of a colorful throw rug was a giant abacus, acting simultaneously as welcoming beacon to small children and warning signal to any adult who might find the sight of a small child preparing to get on a plane with her more than a little bit disturbing.

Jake and I alternated between manipulating the giant abacus beads and looking out the windows to spot airplanes.

“Ay-uh-plane!” Jake would cry.  “Sky!”  He’d point to the sky while I practically squealed with pleasure over his obvious genius-level IQ.  “Whoosh!”

“Are we going in an airplane?” I asked.  “Are we going in the sky?”

Maybe I should have taken a clue from the fact that Jake didn’t answer these questions.

Instead, I busied myself with the task of early boarding, gate checking the folding stroller (which I was getting pretty handy with at this point), and staggering up the steps of the tiny prop plane loaded down with a diaper bag, a computer bag/toddler entertainment center, and, of course, the toddler, who could not be trusted to employ his own walking skills on an airplane tarmac, no matter how small and unbusy the airport.

Once inside, I found our seats and breathed a big sigh of relief for my decision to buy Jake his own ticket, three and a half months shy of his second birthday, when I would be forced to do so.  Last time I flew with him, seven months ago, he was already too big to find a comfortable position for napping in my lap, a particularly distressing discovery when in the midst of a crowded six-hour flight to Los Angeles.  But even with a mere two hour-and-a-half flights to get to Louisville, I knew a nap would be well worth the $140 it would cost me to purchase that additional seat.

So I set him in his seat next to the window and started stowing our bags.

Jake looked around, wide-eyed, assessing the situation.

Once he had fully considered the circumstances, he expressed his opinion.  “No ay-uh-plane!” he yelled.  “NO!  NO AY-UH-PLANE!”

Elmo could not save me now.

Continue reading ‘Travels with Toddler’

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