What should they see

Sometimes I miss doing nonprofit work. I miss doing good deeds for a living. I miss feeling like what I am doing matters.

Sometimes I wish I was home with the kiddos every day. They're so small and there is no one else who can give them what I can give them right now.

Every day. Every day I wonder if I'm doing the right thing.

I am one of those wickedly lucky people who can let happiness guide them through this uncertainty. Am I happy right now? (Yes, I am.) Then I should stay on this path. Simple.

But happiness... is that the right way to look at this? Sometimes, as I drift off to sleep at night and all the day's chaos finally fades to silence I ask myself: this life I'm living, is it the life I would want for Nils and Liv? The answer is always no.

I want them to join the good fight!  I want something to be important to each of them. I want them to chase it, and to do something good with it.

I should be leading by example, shouldn't I. That's the only way this parenting thing works, right? And more than anything - more than eating right, avoiding gossip, respecting the outdoors - I want them to do something to change the world. Big or small, it doesn't matter. So, uh, is that what I should be doing?

Shouldn't they at least see me try?

How quickly you forget

         

6 weeks old? 5? Fast asleep the only way she would do it... in someone's arms.

I took Liv to her six month pediatrician's appointment earlier this week (98th percentile in head circumference! Where did that come from?), and she screamed for the entire 40 minutes of our walk home. Raged.

Poor thing, it wasn't her fault. The walk to the pediatrician came smack in the middle of what should have been her morning nap. Then the vaccinations and general prodding by the doctor certainly kept her awake. By the time we were ready to head home she was at the end of her little rope. Every bump on the sidewalk set her off. Every ray of sunlight that made it past her stroller's sunshade enraged her. Once we made it home I literally ran up the stairs to our apartment and headed straight for her crib.

Poor thing.

Did I mention that I spent the final 10 minutes of that walk repeating "God, give me patience. Give me compassion. Make me a stronger person" over and over again? I had to keep reminding myself that she was just a little thing and she needed my help, etc. Such a sweet thing - the noise! It's making me crazy! - Poor darling.

I also mentally composed a facebook rant during our walk home, one I wisely decided not to publish once we had all calmed down. Something about "the next stranger who stops me on the street and tells me to "enjoy this time with your little tiny ones... it goes by so fast" - I'm going to come to your house at 3 in the morning and cry loudly for half an hour..." There was also some stuff about demanding food but refusing all offerings, taking all their possessions and throwing them in piles on the floor, yelling at them when they didn't run fast enough to the fridge to get me a cup of milk... 40 minutes of screaming never brings out the best in me.

My two are, without a doubt, the best things in my life. No question. Additionally, I am grateful for every day I can spend at home with them. The days are rewarding and exhausting and the positives so greatly outweigh the negatives... but there are negatives. Of course there are negatives. And every time an older person with fully-grown children (and free time!) tells me to "enjoy this time", I sense a rebuke. An unintentional one, but a rebuke all the same. No negative. All positive. How dare you.

I felt this most keenly when Liv was in her first two months. Two small ones, one of whom would begin howling the moment you tried to put her down ... there wasn't even space in my day to make a cup of tea. Getting out the door was such a struggle. Being outside was a struggle. Getting back in the door was a struggle. Struggle struggle struggle. You get the idea. I shut myself in the bathroom a couple times and just cried. I think that's pretty common.

I counted the days until Liv would hit the three month mark and things would ease up. And every time someone saw me trying to hold it together and said "Oh, enjoy this time!", I did my best to keep my smile polite. Easy to remember the good stuff, lady. Would you like me to remind you about the hard parts?

And then it happened. Yesterday I uploaded photos from my camera, some of which were taken way back when Liv was wee wee tiny. Awwwww, so cuuuuuute! I miss tiny baby Liv! Look at her, napping on my chest. Those were the best days.

                                                                                        

Things I learned on my summer vacation

   

Our vacation this year was different. There were no passports, foreign language phrase books, no culture shock. There wasn't even a plane - Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont are perfectly accessible by (rental) car. Our goals this time were different, too. Instead of exotic places and the thrill of "discovery" we hoped for time together and pleasure in timeless activities. Ride a boat. Walk in the woods. Swim in a lake. See some stars.

As always, I had all sorts of little thoughts and came to all sorts of new conclusions while on our trip. The big ones:

1. My identity is pretty fragile, apparently. I slip into a new one every time I leave home.

It happens every time. In Bavaria, I dreamed of owning a vacation cottage there and skiing every winter. This time, in New Hampshire, I decided that we need to have a vacation cottage someday. Something small and simple on a quiet lake. We'll furnish it with rummage sale finds, eat on a plastic dinner table. We'll escape! Weekends at the lake! No internet, no to-do lists. In Vermont I decided that we need to live in Vermont. Small towns and solar panels! Mountains and cool, quiet mornings. We could go hiking every weekend. Imagine that.

2. Escape is just as important as experience

We are normally cut off from our world when we travel. We had the option to stay plugged in this time... and I yanked that power cord as quickly as I could. Turns out I need to drop off the face of the earth from time to time.

3. The simpler we keep things, the happier I am.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss our old way of traveling. Every time I saw a pack of young, childless people setting off on some long hike, tents on their backs, I sighed to myself. Embracing this new way of vacationing though, I discovered real joy in slooooowing down. Keeping things simple and thrilling in simple things. Playing in sand under the sunshine.

Walking in the woods.

Plopping down in the grass and exploring at leisure.

Just being together. No interruptions. Nothing else we "should" be doing.

Swimming. Nothing beats swimming.

Tire swings. Those are wonderful, too.

We will never see every place under the sun. We can never have every experience. The moment I let go of these ideas, ideas I had never even realized I was holding on to, I freed myself up and learned how to just be where I am. What a wonderful feeling.

4. That being said, I'm still not going to do NOTHING.

My favorite quote is from Goethe. "Do not hurry, do not wait." While I think I did a good job with the "do not hurry" part this vacation, I also saw no point in waiting around. Carousel rides!

Rainy day science museums! (Body heat camera)

Hikes up mountains!

River bed exploration!

Climbing lighthouses!

Testing out the water!

Horse rides!

Milking cows!

Yeah, kid. You've earned that nap.

Out out out

    
Evenings. Not the best part of our day. As lovely as the morning and afternoon may be, the hours between 5 pm (nap time ending) and 8:30 pm (bedtime) are a bit tough for everyone.

Nils, having been rudely awoken from his (late, long) nap, is often struggling to keep it together. Liv, making her way toward her own bedtime, slowly becomes less and less willing to be on her own (Hold me, woman! How many times do I have to tell you? Aaaah!). And me? I have run out of steam and run out of ideas. I limp to the finish line.

This drives me crazy. How/can I keep them happy? Why can't I just suck it up and keep myself going a couple more hours? Is there any way around this end-of-day tanking? There has to be a way around this.

Today's experiment called for a change of scenery. I packed a light dinner and we headed to Underhill playground. It was exactly what we needed.

Nils rode a backhoe,

Liv batted at things in an exersaucer,

And I, after realizing that there were Korean tacos nearby, decided we had time to cram in one more treat. Bedtime routines be damned. Solo parenting at bedtime every night: I have earned this taco.

Have not

       

These poor, sweaty children. Trapped in an attic apartment. Won't someone help them?

Summer makes me feel like New York has sold me a bill of goods. 9 months out of the year I'm very happy here. Grateful even, to live in a city that offers us so much. Sure there are downsides and inconveniences, but that's part of the romance! 5th floor walk up apartment, mighty struggles with a stroller on subway station stairs, lack of outdoor space... these things are all a part of the experience.

And the money. The money that flies from your fingers when you do things like buy food, pay rent, and put your children in child care... what, you thought living in the greatest city in the world would be free? You get what you pay for.

I rationalize and I greet all the little struggles with a song in my heart... and then the calendar flips to July.

This place is horrible. There is something about the concrete and the heat spewing from all the vehicles on the street. It is a nasty, spiteful heat that saps my will to live. Night offers little relief. The sun may be gone, but the heat has nowhere to go. Don't bother going for an evening walk. Just lay there, listless and bitter, until September.

And somewhere in July, I realize that the romantic struggle of life in New York is not such a struggle for everyone. There are people with money here, and they have things like beach houses and lake cabins. They spend long swaths of summer with a breeze on their faces and the ocean on their skin. The "experience" of an urban summer is saved for those of us who cannot afford to escape. Lucky us.

I rarely want more than what we have. I don't want a car, a big TV, jewelery, gadgets, appliances, a big fat house, etc. Right now though, I would give anything for a little place where a stiff ocean breeze is blowing.

A brief description of a sweet little pork chop

       

She is 4 and a half months old now. How did this happen? Where is my floppy-necked newborn? Who is this bouncing, giggling baby?

As her personality emerges I find myself falling deeper and deeper in love with my sweet Liv. Liv, or Lovely Liv, Livly, Pork Chop, Livlet, Livstress, Livstress Liv-a-lot, Livsie, Livsie Lou, Girly Pearl, Pearl, Darly Bird... any one of the multitude of nicknames she has inspired. Her eyes are always wide open and her head is constantly turning from side to side. She doesn't want to miss out on any of the action.

Having not yet learned to speak, she is often silent. Her sweet, quiet presence contrasts so nicely with Nils and his boisterous, constant chatter. I look at her sometimes, looking at him with big blue eyes and raised eyebrows (surprised!), and I just want to take a bite of that tiny, upturned nose (my nose!). She is delicious.

Liv cries when tired, hungry, or bored with her baby gym. Otherwise she is happy and mild. She likes baths, and laughs hysterically every time I take off her clothes - tickles her neck, apparently. She wakes up from naps smiling. She does not like to snuggle, preferring instead to face away from whoever is holding her. Too much to see, I suppose. She adores her big brother.

Honest to goodness, I cannot believe there was ever a time that she was not a part of our family. How could she ever not have been here? How did I ever manage to enjoy myself, not yet knowing her?

Tumbling

   
I've got this beautiful image going through my head, over and over again. I'm in some vaguely tropical place, swimming deep underwater off the coast. Maybe 20 or 30 feet. Diving, perhaps. The current is pulling me and pulling me, then is suddenly like a tidal wave passing on its way to the shore. It tosses me, I'm tumbling and tumbling. Head over heels, my fins arc over my head. The water is a clear, bright blue and I can hear it bubbling all around me. There is nothing to grab and so I let myself spin and flail. There is no danger.

Then suddenly I'm at the surface. I take in a big gulp of air. Good lord, that was incredible. I look to the shore.

                    *                    *                    *                    *                    *                   *

I've spent the last two and a half years tumbling. The disorientation is more powerful right now - having an infant in my life seems to do that to me. For some reason I have babies and suddenly everything is up for grabs. What defines me? How do I feel about everyone around me? How do I want to spend my time? What makes me laugh? I thought I did all my major re-orienting with Nils, but here I go again.

I love it, feeling off kilter like this. It's as though I could wake up tomorrow and something new could click into place. "You know what? The culture of irony falls flat with me now." Or, "I think I'm losing my itch to travel."  Little things, big things... everything is swirling around me, just out of reach.

I imagine things will settle at some point soon. When I pop up for air and look to the shore, what will I see? Will the landscape be completely transformed? What landmarks will I still recognize?

Having my children has made me feel so beautifully unimportant. There is, of course, the shifting mf my focus from me to them. There is also though, a new understanding of just how powerful the force of life is. I can put together
a view of the world and hold to it as tightly as I want; no matter. It is ripped out of my hands with ease.

The uncertainty... wow. I am so grateful for it.

What I wonder now is this: what other "tidal waves" await? What other events will throw me off balance and force me to remember that I am not a finished product?