Slacker

That’s me.  When I started this blog I said I wanted to slow down, record and reflect on the little steps when they happen before they blur together and get lost over time. Well, time is blurring. Since my last post Amelia has joined the swim team, lost another tooth (bringing the total to 3 with one more about to drop), went on another sleepover, read books to my parents, met an old friend from Spain, and learned to put cologne behind her knees. I blame my friend from Spain for that last one.   

But I blame myself for not writing about any of it. Or the many more milestones I’ve already forgotten. Somehow, there are only about 30 days left of kindergarten, and the scared little girl who got on the school bus that sunny day in August just told me all about oviparous animals and why a butterfly’s chrysalis hangs from a branch and I am floored. Increasingly, I’m her ride to a birthday party or a playdate, but no longer her companion. I still get a kiss at drop off and pick up, but even Amelia knows this time is fleeting – she told me last week that when she is a teenager she’s pretty sure I will embarrass her.   

I’m pretty sure I will too. But I will be there, and I will still kiss her at drop off and pick up, and I promise to write about it. And someday I hope she’ll thank me. 

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Shoo!

When I was single and aspired to be Carrie Bradshaw, I bought shoes anytime I faced life transitions. A breakup, a move, an argument...I had a closet full of stress-induced footwear. 

Now that Parenting in the Suburbs has replaced Sex and the City, there are way more transitions than shoes. And we’re on the brink of a big one.

Amelia just told me to “Shoo!” 

That's right, complete with dismissive hand gestures. She's having a sleepover, and after a day of asking what time it is and how much longer she has to wait, her friend has arrived and my company is no longer needed.

Sometimes she wants to be alone.

This isn’t the first time. Amelia has taken to running to her room after school, closing the door and telling me not to follow her—until she calls me, hungry for a snack. She proudly walks herself to and from neighbors’ houses for playdates, boldly rides her bike beyond our predetermined boundaries, and I’ve noticed lots of whispering and secrets between Amelia and her friends when adults are around. Last week she was playing with our neighbors, and they took their dog for a walk. As they passed our house, Bentley saw his Girl so I took him out to join the walk. Amelia was mortified. She pulled me aside and whispered in my ear “GO HOME.” Ouch.

Reading to themselves

I know she still needs me, and this is all very normal stuff. But it’s happening just as I’ve settled into this mostly-at-home-mama stuff. Now that I’m available, she’d prefer I’m invisible. As I write this, Amelia and her sleepover friend are playing in the next room. I’ve been called to repair a game piece, inflate an air mattress, bring the dog and take the dog away, make dinner, and reach things on high shelves. I’m on call, but I’m not invited.

I’ve got a little time on my hands. It's a good thing, because I’m going to need to buy shoes.
  

Want more Mess? Check out my blog over at Charlotte Parent, or drop by my Etsy store, Made by Mommy. Or better yet, leave a comment here! I'll respond, I promise! 

‘Tis the Season…Or ‘Tis It?

Well, I totally mishandled this whole Santa thing and now Amelia’s the class liar. 

I knew when she started public school that December would be rough. Even in a school that tries extra hard to “celebrate winter holidays” and “embrace the diversity of our community,” Santa Claus is a tough guy to put in a corner.  He’s everywhere – all over newspaper ads, the subject of the catchiest tunes on the radio, he’s standing outside the supermarket ringing a bell, posing for photos at the mall, decorating lawns and chimneys all over the neighborhood, and worked into the storyline of every television show Amelia watches. The big red-suited guy is here to stay.

Of course this was all true last year too. We drove by the same decorations on the way to preschool, and laughed when Amelia called Santa “that Christmas guy.” Because at her Jewish preschool, we knew that she was not making Santa hats or singing about good boys and girls getting toys. We knew that she would not feel left out, because at preschool she was not different. But this year there are only a smattering of Jewish students at Amelia’s school, and the season is chock full of Santa-appeal. And confusion.

Sharing our favorite lights with a buddy

So what to do? You can’t ignore Christmas, or deny all the fun and beauty that comes with it. We love holiday lights, so we drive around each year and check out our favorites, making special trips to a few over-the-top, set-to-music extravaganzas. Amelia’s friends are all anxiously awaiting Santa and the treasures he’ll bring. They talk about Santa on the bus, and compare notes on the whereabouts of their elves on shelves. We have no elf or tree, and we’ll probably eat Chinese food and go to the movies on Christmas. I’ve tried to convey that Christmas isn’t one of our holidays but it is beautiful and special for our friends who celebrate. And I thought we could leave it at that, at least for this year. 

But then there's Santa. We were watching Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on television last week – maybe we shouldn’t have watched but it’s fun and I loved it as a kid and turned out relatively fine and still Jewish. Instead of watching the television I watched Amelia. Watched her little brow furrow as the reindeer and the elves talked about the big guy bringing toys to all the good little girls and boys. Listened as Amelia explained to me how she thinks the reindeer fly even without wings, due to the magic powers of the fairy dust that Santa sprinkles on them. All of a sudden, it hit me: she believes. Just like she believes in the tooth fairy and the Disney princesses, she believes in Santa. And she’s good yet she knows he’s not coming.

No wonder her brow was furrowed. The injustice!

So I told her. I wanted her to know she isn’t being left out. I said, “Amelia, you know Santa isn’t real, right?” Oh, crap. I knew even as I said it that this was just too big a secret for a kindergartener to keep. So I tried to cover, with explanations of how Santa is such a nice idea and a good character, like in a story, that kids who celebrate Christmas believe in. The more I yammered the deeper I dug my own hole. Finally she said, “So Santa is just the daddies in a costume?” Right, I said, and the most important message – don’t ruin it for the kids who celebrate Christmas. Let them believe in Santa.

Except of course she couldn’t do that. The next day, when the whole naughty and nice and lists of toys conversation came up over snack, she spilled the beans. And it seems Santa has ardent defenders in kindergarten, because the other kids were quick to call my girl a liar. And I’m sure there were more colorful names for me from their parents once Amelia’s classmates were tucked into bed and the dancing sugarplums started. I’m still surprised I haven’t gotten any phone calls.

So to all the believers: I’m sorry. I do love the Santa idea. It’s just a little bit all-consuming and I haven’t figured out how to let Amelia enjoy it but keep it in perspective and avoid disappointment and confusion. So I told the truth and made her a liar.

I’m sorry. Is it New Year’s yet?

Want more Mess? Check out my blog over at Charlotte Parent, or drop by my Etsy store, Made by Mommy. Or better yet, leave a comment here! I'll respond, I promise!

Upgrading the Heart(h)

For years, we’ve talked about upgrading our kitchen. I have a pinterest board bursting with marble countertops and gleaming cooktops. We’ve replaced tired appliances one at a time as they’ve died, but we had yet to take the full leap. Until today.

Let’s look back about ten years ago. I was living with a roommate in a tiny apartment outside Boston, MA. Some friends of ours with a much better apartment were moving, and we wanted their place. Like all good Boston real estate, so did at least three other people. And it was up to a mysterious board with undefined criteria to make the decision. So for a few days, we waited with fingers crossed. And as a just-in-case consolation prize, I bought a fancy shower curtain for the old apartment. One I knew we wouldn’t need in the new apartment. Within hours of bringing that non-returnable shower curtain into the old apartment, we learned we’d gotten the new one.

That pesky burner

Last week, the finicky front burner on our stove became especially finicky and I finally got frustrated enough to look into replacing it. Sure enough, for about $20 on Amazon you can buy a replacement coil that will probably fit and hopefully work. So I ordered one. Within an hour, the email came from Sears: All cooktops, ranges and wall ovens are 50% off!  Plus, bring all the assorted points and coupons you’ve ever accumulated from the other stuff you’ve bought with us! Come one, come all!  Come, Baron family!

It had to be a sign. I went to Sears, and three days later I’m spending the afternoon with contractors watching dust fly and sparkly new appliances replace all the remaining old ones.  Because Sears is no fool - once you’re in the store and there’s a big sale on stuff you’ll eventually buy anyway, you’re not just buying a cooktop.

Before - you can't do a stove and not the oven, right?

During

Amelia and my mother, hard at work

So this is exciting, but it’s also a little bit scary.  Growing up, my mother was always in the kitchen. She loved to cook, but I think she also just loved the kitchen. It was her domain. My mother hung out in there, irrelevant of mealtimes. She kept everything in the kitchen: notecards, permission slips, medical records, medication, a bag of bicentennial coins, broken toys, presents, wrapping paper, stamps, office supplies, phone books, lost pieces of everything, a needle and thread, magazines, and much more. Oh – and also food. It was chaotic, crowded, and she was in charge. Efficiency, jokes, big decisions, surprises, meals, homework help and banana bread were served in equal portions from that tiny kitchen. It was bustling, familiar, and open 24 hours.

The kitchen is the heartbeat of our house too. It’s not quite as crowded or chaotic as I remember from childhood, but it’s definitely the hub of activity.  It can’t be too fancy, because we live there. We spill glitter and carve pumpkins and paint in there. Amelia learned to crack an egg over the old stove. The old kitchen was comfortable, broken in. But also broken. So why am I suddenly feeling nostalgic about a finicky burner? Things change, and in the grand scheme of things, new appliances are not that big a change. Right?

Just to make sure, I made banana bread as soon as the contractors left. And Amelia and I made Halloween cookies after school. And there are meatballs simmering on the stove. Smells familiar.

Welcome home, new kitchen!

 Want more Mess? Visit my blog over at Charlotte Parent Magazine, or drop by my Etsy store, Made by Mommy!

Adjustments

I’ve become one of those women. I’m writing this post from a comfortable armchair in the lobby of the Jewish Community Center while my daughter takes an afterschool acting class. I’m the mom with an hour to kill. How did this happen, you wonder? How did I go from the mom with a too-dependent child in her lap or clinging to her leg or in her arms to the chauffeur of Miss (mostly) Independence? It happened in a flash.

nervous-cited

just 'cited

Amelia started kindergarten two weeks ago. You were probably expecting a blog post and at least ten photos with a school bus in the background, and I was expecting to write one. But I couldn’t. It went too smoothly, she woke up early and eager, got dressed, looked adorable, jumped on the bus with a wave and a "nervous-cited" smile and came home with an ear to ear grin. I spent the day haunted by the feeling that a giant shoe was falling in slow motion.

It dropped. 

Don’t panic, I know Amelia will love kindergarten and school. Her teacher seems great, she’s always learning, and she’s getting used to her new routine. Which might be part of the problem – school IS the new routine. Two weeks in, the novelty is wearing off. We’ve entered a new phase, one with alarm clocks and rules and dress codes and homework. And she asked me not to kiss her at the bus stop anymore.

Until last week, I’d never met Amelia’s homeroom teacher. It struck me at curriculum night that the unfamiliar halls of the public school are where she spends the majority of her time, and I didn’t even know which classroom is hers. Or the route the school bus takes once it leaves our street. Or who drives it, or the names of the big kids on the bus and on the playground who are teaching her Taylor Swift songs and why it’s cool to sit in certain seats and not others. I took a photo of the class list on the door to help us both remember her classmates’ names. I’ll need that photo more than she will.

lifelong buddies

Last week was Rosh HaShanah, the Jewish New Year. We celebrated with friends from preschool. The girls ran into each others arms like long lost twins separated for decades, not preschool buddies who were in camp together only a few weeks ago. And then I understood. They’ve never known school without one another. They learned each others’ names while they were learning to talk. For her life so far, these ARE her lifelong friends.

And their families are our lifelong friends too, sort of. I barely remember life before Amelia, and daycare arrived on the scene soon after she did. We’ve all grown together in this parenthood thing, we’re comfortable, we know and trust one another, and now we’re separating. We have to make new mom friends at new schools.

I expected a period of adjustment for Amelia, but I didn’t expect one for me. Lately I’ve seen a few articles about a new kind of mommy war.  Not the classic working moms vs moms who stay home, but different kinds of moms judging one another – sporty mom, crafty mom, healthy mom, successful mom, etc. Will the cookies I make for the first bake sale define me for Amelia’s school career? And so much for wearing pajamas to the bus stop.

But worse than other moms judging me, I can’t stop thinking that for the first time, strangers are judging Amelia. My funny, quirky, dress-wearing, pony-loving little girl. Will kids tease her? Will the teacher understand her sense of humor? Will she make friends? Will I embarrass her? 

Right now, peeking through the window of her acting class, she seems to be doing just fine in a room full of kids I don’t think she knows. She does a mean impression of a sheep, I hope the teacher asks to hear it. 

When that other shoe dropped, it landed on me.

Want more Mess? Check out my blog at Charlotte Parent Magazine, or visit my Etsy store, Made by Mommy!

I'm Over It

They say it takes as long to get out as it does to get in. Nine months to add the pregnancy weight, nine more to lose it.  It’s a round-trip theory.

It turns out the same logic applies to clearing your mind of a bad work experience. I started this blog around the time I was leaving a job that was a terrible fit, and I was miserable. I held that job for just over a year, and last week marked my one-year walking-out-the-door anniversary. I just re-read my posts from a year ago, and wow, what a difference a year makes. I thought I felt better right away. In hindsight I see that I felt both liberated and terrified. But I still had a lot of healing to do. 

How do I know? Here are a few changes since last year:

almost good as new...I think I'll add legs

• I’ve let the stuff into the house.  There’s a shipping crate that I saved, because I thought it was a nice box that I would repurpose some day. And then I brought it home and wouldn’t let it past the back door. This week I brought it in, painted and upholstered it, and voila - the playroom has a new storage stool. Peeling off the shipping label with my museum address was like ripping off a Bandaid. Underneath, the wound is healed and the box is good as new.

• Today I can read about the place I worked without emotion. Articles in the newspaper, online or on television used to paralyze me with anger. I’d read into every word or comment, digging for hidden meaning.  There have been a few articles lately, which I skimmed and moved on. I’m just not that interested anymore, and I haven’t got the time for hidden meanings.

• The dreams have stopped. I used to have work-related dreams every few days. I’d wake up stressed and still tired.  And just the other day I realized I can’t recall the last time this happened. They slowed, and then they stopped.

• I wore the dress. This one is especially ridiculous. Ilene Beckerman's book (and Nora Ephron's play) Love, Loss and What I Wore links life events and wardrobe, and in a stupid, superstitious way so do I. There’s a black dress hanging in my closet that was my go-to dress for much of this year. Forgiving fit, wrinkle-free, layers well, easy to pack…in a year marked by low professional self-confidence, this dress was as good as it got for me. Just seeing it hanging in the closet reminded me of a year of increasingly unpleasant encounters. Oddly, I didn’t get rid of it, but I couldn’t bring myself to wear it. Until last week. I met an old friend and new client, and needed a dress that would look good after a long drive. I put it on without a second thought, wore it all day and…wow, I still like that dress! It’s back in circulation.

• And the anniversary passed with no fanfare.  Amelia and I are in the midst of Camp Mommy – a month of together time in between summer camp and the start of school. I know what day it is because we’re trying to fill them, but August 3^rd came and went and it was only at bedtime that I saw the date and thought oh yeah, it’s been a year.  Interesting.

A few days ago I ran into a former colleague who told me nothing has changed. Same oppressive, stifling air. Same people running in the same circles. Same culture of secrets and games.  The conversation reminded me of reuniting with a bad boyfriend only to remember on the first date exactly why it ended in the first place. Because nothing has changed. 

But I’ve changed, and finally I’m over it.

Want more Mess? Drop by A Crafty Mess at Charlotte Parent, or visit my Etsy store, Made by Mommy. 

She Lost It

The tooth. She really lost it. It’s been over a week, and still no sign.

In my last post, I wrote about how that thing was hanging on by a thread. How we were waiting for it to fall out with both anticipation (Amelia) and dread (me). But when it happened, nobody noticed.  Maybe because I was distracted by another sign that Amelia is growing up right under our noses. 

Amelia and our dog Bentley have an affectionate relationship. We call Bentley the President of Kissing because if he isn’t sleeping he’s probably kissing somebody, usually Amelia.  So there they were kissing and laughing and snuggling on the living room floor, and all of a sudden Amelia says:

“Mommy, Bentley is kissing me in French!”

WHAT THE HELL???? 

What are they learning at big kid camp? It’s bad enough that she’s learned the words to Taylor Swift songs (and thankfully still prefers My Little Pony) but she’s also heard of French kissing? From WHO??

So of course, I stammered something about Bentley being a French poodle and tried not to make this a big deal. But in my head it was disturbing enough to distract me from Operation Tooth Watch until at least an hour later, when Amelia just didn’t look quite the same.  I asked her to open her mouth and there it was – or wasn’t – the tooth was GONE.  Not even Amelia had noticed it falling out. 

Gone.

And so we searched. All over the house and yard. No tooth. Amelia was devastated because she wanted to see the bottom of the tooth. Sentimental me of course wanted to save that sucker in a little box with the lock of hair from her first haircut.  Yes, I have that. Don’t judge. And of course, we had to turn something over to the Tooth Fairy.

So Amelia wrote the Tooth Fairy a sweet letter of explanation. And the tooth fairy forgave her in a return letter and delivered some good loot and very authentic fairy dust, which proves beyond any shadow of a doubt that she was indeed in the room, dropping dust from her wings as she hovered above the tooth fairy pillow. So all’s well that ends well, and Amelia still believes. 

But what of the tooth? Yeah, Bentley probably swallowed it while they were making out. 

Please let’s talk about fairy dust again.

Want more Mess? Check out A Crafty Mess over at Charlotte Parent, or visit my Etsy store, Made by Mommy...or better yet, leave a comment here. I'll respond, I promise. Or maybe the Tooth Fairy will.