Curing The Everyday Routine Blues

Last night I worked until 7pm, caught the 7:55pm ferry, and arrived home a little after 9pm. The kids were already asleep, I was feeling particularly lonely, and full of mommy-guilt, and I just simply ached to spend time with them.

I nursed through my bought of sadness by slipping into my bed and tried to distract myself from what seemed like the heavy weight of my working-mommyness with a new book that had arrived in the mail. Perfect timing. I drifted off to sleep at 10:30 (early for me!) with the book in my hand.

When I woke up, the world seemed slightly brighter. I worked from my mom's house which allowed me to spend some extra time in the morning with the kids. The highlight of my morning is always walking into the boys' room to find Ryan standing in his crib, desperately clutching his blankey, just waiting for someone to come in an attend to him. His special bear is usually on the floor having been tossed, in usual Ryan-fashion, from the crib (he likes to throw...everything). Ryan will smile widely through his binky when I walk through the door Then he will look expectantly at my empty hands and bleet in a craggy, baby-lamb voice, "Baah baah?"

"Good morning Baby!" I always shriek excitedly.

Ryan just continues to stare at me. "Baah baah? Baah baah? Baah baah?!" He becomes suddenly offended that I have failed to bring him a warm bottle of milk. I pick him up and march with him into the kitchen to prepare his bottle. He loves to watch as the microwave light goes on and the bottle spins dervishly beneath it.

At this point, Jacob is usually bouncing off the sofa cusions in the living room, moving along to one of his favorite PBS Kids shows. I'll occassionally catch a glimpse of him pumping one fist into the air, his signature dance move. By this point the living room is usually littered with a granola bar wrapper, a sopping wet pullup, and three of four different layers of clothing that Jacob wanted at one point only to discard in exchange for his birthday suit.

These are my mornings on the days I work from home. I absolutely love these mornings.

After I arrived at my mom's house with the kids, I snuck out for a five mile run along the same path that I used to run every summar day in highschool in preparation for the upcoming cross country season. The path smells, looks, and feels the exact same as it did when I was younger. If it weren't for the absence of the family on the corner that I used to babysit for regularly, I could have misled myself into thinking I had momentarily slipped back in time. A time when I felt so positive and optimistic about the fact that I was going to do important things and perhaps even change the world a little. My five mile long daydream ended when I arrived back at my mom's house. I gave the kids another hug and kiss, snuck in a shower, and then began my workday.

When the clock his 5:30pm, I folded up my laptop and, with dread, prepared for the usual evening monotonous routine. I wasn't ready to go home to a housefull of chores to face the task of turning a handful of ingredients into something edible while my tired kids whinned and tugged at my feet. So, I simply didn't. Instead, I whisked the kids on a spontaneous trip to go play putt-putt golf. It was awesome. And it was probably the highlight of the kids' week.

Jacob's grip and stance has improved greatly from our trip last year. Last year, we ended up playing golf-bowling as I let Jacob roll the golf ball down the green. This year, I could barely keep up with him! He did it the big kid way!

Ryan loved walking around with the putter in one hand and the golf ball in the other. At one point he threw the golf ball at the upcoming green and hit another golfer in the ankle (sorry man wearing a kilt!)

Jacob did some super fancy putting stances. His spotlight was quickly snatched away by Ryan's comedic relief. The thief was mid-swipe!

 

Taking a rest.

 

By the end of our trip, Ryan had watched me enough times that he actually tried to his own hand at golf. I was nearly rendered speechless by his ability to hold the putter and swipe the ball across the green. Turns out his sports skills are not limited to one sport. 

 

We ended the trip with some popsicles. Because what's the point of putt-putt golf if you don't enjoy some nice refreshing popsicles in the parking lot?

 

"Nice baby!" Jacob is not really petting Ryan here. He is actually making sure that he does not fall backward. He was very concerned that Ryan wouldn't stay put.

Love these guys. Also, I love pictures of kids with popsicle. Also, I love popsicles.

Ryan's popsicle fell on the floor right after I took this picture. I picked it up and handed it right back to him. There was only dirt on one side. He's eaten worse things in his short life (*catfood*).

 

Because we spent all evening at the golf course instead of slaving away in the kitchen, I stopped by our favorite thai spot to pick up dinner. The 1 star chicken curry was too "spicey" for Jacob. Ryan, on the other hand absolutely loved it, potatoes, carrots, and all.

Home Is Where The Mom Is

My mom was telling me about a mutual acquaintance when she said, "You know, I don't think she will have any more kids." (She has one now). Surprised at her presumption, I asked her why.

"She isn't really the mother type," she answered.

Hmmm. I thought that was odd. But then I thought about it some more. I thought about some of the people I knew. I thought about my own challenges in parenthood. The more I thought about it the more it made sense. Not everyone who has kids is naturally inclined in the motherhood department. The characteristics we often correlate with mothering don't magically appear the moment you give birth. 

I think being a parent is my favorite part about being an adult. It by far tops all other experiences I have had. But I think people can still feel this way and still love their child beyond words and still not be naturally-inclined parents. Raising kids takes an endless supply of energy and empathy and guidance and selfessness. It's constantly putting your children's needs ahead of your own (rare exception: date night, then all bets are off). Also, it's just as much about knowing when to stand aside and give your child some opportunities to grow on his own.

Not all people are instinctively good at putting other people first. And not all people are intuitive and nurturing by nature. I think we can all learn these skills but I do believe that some people are just born with a greater amount of these characteristics than others.

Today, it seems, we are so quick to label every stated difference between men and women as sexism. Is it sexist if I say that the best mommy qualities are nurturing, patience, and selflessness? I don't think we automatically list these as desirable fathering qualities. Or do we? I don't want to speak for all of society. Regardless, in my mind, these are important components of a mother's role.

This week, I was working in my "home office" when I heard my children giggling in the next room. I heard my mom playing with them, explaining things to them, and laughing with them. Jacob started to be difficult and, at a point where I would have totally lost my mommy marbles, my mom continued to speak to him in a soft and loving and patient tone. The next minute they were all laughing again and my mom continued to be her naturally cheerful self. 

I stopped writing my motion mid-sentence and felt so very grateful for my mom. I recalled the same cheerful "mommy voice," the same understanding demeanor, and the same depths of patience from my own childhood memories. Right then, it suddenly struck me. I think I'm a good mom. I know I'm doing right by my kids. But, my own mom is just such an amazing, nurturing, patient, selfless, and loving soul. She is, without a doubt, a better mother than I am.

She always put us first. Always. I can't recall a single time that she did not put us first. This doesn't mean she always gave us what we wanted. Or caved to our demands. She was tough on us when she had to be but she was always the most cheerful person in the room. She was always the first person to get on the floor and play with us kids. She would not just supervise or watch as many parents would do. She would join in our game, on our own level.

Obviously, she isn't perfect (although she comes pretty close). When we were naughty growing up, instead of losing her cool, she would smile, close her eyes and pray outloud, "Dear Jesus, please help my children to be loving and good listeners and help them to learn to obey." We absolutely hated that. It was the worst punishment ever. We would have prefered to be thrown in our room or spanked than to have to listen to our mom pray to Jesus about our lack of character.

I have only heard my mom utter the "f" word one time in my entire life (so unlike me who has sprinkled my kid's childhood with unapolagetic f-bombs). I was 14 years old and I was rendered totally distraught by her use of the word. It was so unlike her that I was completely dumbfounded and speechless. My mom also has her sources of sadness. But she doesn't let these sources defeat her or anyone else for that matter. She has found a deep inner joy and it radiates through everything she does.

She is tough shoes to fill. While I have strength in other qualities, and while I share her nurturing and empathic qualities, I will never be as selfless or patient as she is. I will never have her unshakable cheerfulness. She is the most naturally-inclined mother I have ever met. She is simply amazing. And, while I can't be like her or even be measured on the same scale, I am equal parts ecstatic and extremely fortunate that my children have her as a grandmother. There is no doubt that she fills in where my mothering is incomplete or where my attention and time are stretched to the limits.

When I walk into her house on the weekdays that I work from her basement, I feel completely safe and serene. There is so much love and cheerfulness in her house that it engulfs both me and my children in a large invisible blanket. It's as if the entire house is hugging us from the inside. As if the walls are radiating joy. At the source of the love, we feel content and cared for. I can only hope that this is how my own children feel in our home.

Love And The D-Word

Growing up, I used to babysit alot. In fact, I babysat from the age of 9 (don't worry, I was supervised!) through lawschool and up until the year Jacob was born. I've babysat for may families from Seattle to Chicago. Out of all the families I babysat for, there is one family that will always stand out in my fond babysitting memories.

I started babysitting for this family when I was 11. I continued to babysit for them until I graduated from highschool and moved to Chicago for college. During that time, I watched the three children grow from kids/toddlers to young men and women.

I loved that family. LOVED.

The mom was beautiful. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up: busy, a bit frazzled, but always confident and stylish. Just like her, I wanted to grow up to have two older boys and one girl. I had a mini-crush on the dad and enjoyed the nights he would drive me home and ask me about what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Then there were the kids. I can't begin to describe how close we grew. Nine years of playing games, watching movies, making up bedtime stores, and tucking them in. They gave me the best babysitting stories. Like the time we were all playing hide and seek and the middle child locked himself in the bathroom, put the cat in the dryer, and turned the dryer on. Right at that moment, the mom called to check up on us. Ahhh, I always had an extra soft-spot in my heart for that kid!

I always saw them as the "perfect" family. They had their flaws, but their flaws were just how a family should be flawed, if that makes sense. They were everything I wanted in my own future family: loud, rowdy, loving, lovable. Not only did I look up to the mom and the dad. I spent hours imaging my future husband and myself being just like them. I often wished I could be a part of that family. (No matter how good your own family is, when you're a kid, you can never quite appreciate what you have).

It's been years since I've seen any member of that family. I never run into them when I'm running errands back home. But still, I'll occasionally remember them and look back happily on my memories.

Today, unexpectedly and quite randomly, I heard that the mom and dad are getting a divorce. I was bowled over by the news.  Just the thought devastated me. This was the couple that I'd grown up idolizing. The couple that I wanted to be emulate. Now the very family that I had set on a pedestal was breaking apart.

Oddly, even though I hadn't seen them in forever, I began to tear up at the news. It was as if some part of my childhood past was crumbling. Something I'd always held in high regard was no longer that perfection that I had remembered. The perfect image of a family that I'd held so closely throughout my own developmental years suddenly shattered. I thought about the kids and how sad this must be for them. Then I thought about my own family. If THEY, my "perfect" family, can end up like this, can't any family? I know I only saw them from the outside and was not privy the inner-workings of the family. But still...what kind of twisted road is it that takes you from strong to broken?

It's a tragedy. That people who were once so in love can at some point in their lives decide they want to spend the rest of their years apart. Or worse, with other people. With sadness, I immediately texted my husband and kindly asked him to never divorce me.

It may be weird but my husband and I talk about the issue of divorce every so often. We both look at each other and solemly agree that we can't imagine ever having to come to that rough breaking point. It's probably trite, but we continually promise each other, over and over, that we will never come to that. That we will alway be there for each other. That we'll always give our relationship the care and attention that it needs. That if we have to get old and wrinkled at some point, we will do it together.

But isn't that what everyone says? I mean, no one gets married with the plan of someday getting a divorce, right? I'd like to think that we are special. I'd like to believe the fact that we are very different people and yet get along so well is a testiment to how we are above the big D-word. But, in reality, we can't predict the future. It saddens me to know that while I can control my own actions, there are many variables (the actions and feelings of my husband) that are out of my control. Because it really does take two to make things work. If you can only control half of that effort, you really have no lasting assurance that things will work out.

But, that's the thing about love. Whether it's love for your husband, love for a friend, or love for your children. Even if you give your whole heart, you never receive a fire-proof guarantee that love will always be there in return. It's crazy. It's unpredictable. It's painful. But, we all do it anyway. We can't help it.

It makes me think that love is both watchful and blind at the same time. You have to love with your eyes open, by keeping a look out for ways to improve, tend, and strenghthen your relationship and its deficiencies. But you also have to love blindly--blind to the uncertainty, the unknown, and the "what-ifs." We won't ever receive a guarantee that things will work, but we still have to love as if we know that it will. Because, you cannot love truly if you love with reservation.

So Let's Set The World On Fire

I was sitting at my desk at work today when I got an unusual call. It was a student. She needed to interview a lawyer for one of her college classes. 

She started out by asking me some basic questions, like "what type of law do you practice?" and "where did you go to school?" Then came deeper questions.

"What lead to you becoming a lawyer?"

I gave the cop-out answer. I told her I had graduated from undergraduate school with double majors in Political Science and International Studies. But after they handed me my diploma, I had no idea what was next. I mean what exactly are you qualified to do with a Political Science degree? So, at the last minute, I joined my fellow Poli Sci majors and took the LSAT. My dad was a lawyer so I already had some admiration for the profession. I decided to let my LSAT score decide my fate for me. In the end, I got a pretty good score so I went to lawschool.

After I gave my answer, I turned the tables and asked about her career goals. With a cheerful, optimistic voice, she told me she didn't really know what she wanted to do. But she wanted to dedicate her life to helping people, especially people in other countries. In short, she wanted to help save the world.

Her positivity and noble goals nearly bowled me over. I paused for a moment to reflect. What she said hit me. It hit me really hard. Eight years ago, I was her. I was EXACTLY her. Eight years ago, before I chose the path that led me to lawschool, I was desperate to serve.  I wanted to save orphans in India. I wanted to oversee U.S. foreign policy in countries around the globe. Administer foreign assistance in third world countries. I wanted to be a part of the United Nations. I wanted to give myself to the world and to all of her children. I wanted a career of sacrifice and love and diplomacy.

But I just didn't know how to get there.

After college, I had plenty of internship experience to help me land an entry level job somewhere. I had interned for the Governor's Office of Illinois (yup, that would have been the always-controversial Governor Blagojevich!). I interned for a documentary film producer. I worked for a small nonprofit arts theater. I volunteered at a children's cancer hospital. But none of that really led me anywhere that I truly wanted to be.

So I applied for a program to teach english in Japan. I had studied Japanese for four years in highschool. Everyone told me I was a shoe-in. I put tons of effort into my application. I prepped for my interview for HOURS. I was determined to get the job. But....I didn't. And I was devastated.

I had to think of a new plan quickly. I followed my Poli Sci friends to the LSAT and, somehow, stumbled my way into lawschool. When I entered lawschool, I still had my heart set on a career of service. I was certain a J.D. after my name would provide PLENTY of opportunities to go abroad and serve the world through some fancy organization or other. I was crestfallen to discover that those types of job were ultra-competative. My average lawschool grades would not put me in reach of those goals anytime soon.

Then life happened. I met my husband. We got married. We started a family. We gained a mortgage. We had car and health insurance payments. I left lawschool with a huge student loan debt. Debt that will likely stick around for the next 1.5 decades. Somewhere in all that life, I lost sight of my original goals. I landed an awesome summer internship at a litigation firm. I followed that internship into a job and that job has now become my career.

My ambitious, adventure-seeking, philanthropic self has morphed into a mediocre, boring everyday person. A person who dresses business casual and sits at a computer typing documents all day. Routine has replaced spontaneity. Bills have replaced travel expenditures. Contentedness has replaced my abhorrence for boring everyday life. And a family tethering me home has replaced my heart's desire to roam.

Sure, if I really wanted to, I could probably dust off those old dreams and follow them to the ends of the earth. But I'm a different person now. I've accepted the wonder and beauty of a routine life. I live like millions of other boring people across this country. And you know what? I'm even OK with it.

Sometimes I wonder if I am a sell-out. I mean, I practice personal injury law instead of feeding orphans or saving people from AIDs. Don't get me wrong, I really do enjoy my work. It's just not the fancy, set-the-world-on-fire job I always dreamed about.

BUT, you know what? At the end of the day, I don't care much about what I do....as long as I get to come home to this:

Life Is But A Dream

Oh my gosh. Today was incredible. Just when I was starting to give up on weekends, today just went and one-upped yesterday. Not only did we have two fun filled family days in a row, but I still managed to do chores, keep the house fairly clean, plan meals for the week, and prepare in advance my lunch, the diaper bag, my purse, and my outfit for tomorrow.

On top of that, our grocery bill for the week was impressive. I'm planning on making crab mac 'n cheese, beef stroganoff, and ginger-soy chicken. Our grocery bill come to a modest $50 and some odd change! Admittedly, this did not include baby formula or beef tips. BUT it did include a $10 pack of crab meat and staples such as milk, bread, eggs, and lunch meat. Do I hear any cheers? .....(crickets)......

Today started out "iffy." We planned to visit my parents' house so that we could all go for a boat ride. But the weather was overcast all morning. We were on the fence about what to do but finally decided to throw caution to the wind and make the trip despite the weather. I'm so glad we did! The second we got onto the water, the clouds broke and the weather warmed up. It turned out to be a wonderful day for boating on the Puget Sound!

I was lucky enough to grow up on an increduble island near Seattle. For the last half of my childhood, we lived on a beautiful waterfront property. The house itself wasn't much, but the wrap-around views of the Sound and a front yard that stretched across endless beach and sand, offering crab, clams, and fish for the taking, was dream worthy. I grew up surrounded by so much beauty.

And then I moved to the mid-west for college....Corn. Fields. Let's jusy say that if it hadn't been for Lake Michigan, I wouldn't have lasted a month.

Today, stepping onto my parents boat, was like stepping into a world of the past. My dad has had the same 17" Bayliner since I was 5. That's 23 years! It still works...well, sometimes. It's incredible how much larger the boat seemed to my child-self. Sitting in the boat now, I'm seeing it through much different eyes.

I remember sitting in the bow in summers past with my siblings. The three of us could almost completely stretch out as we kept a vigilant watch for stray driftwood ahead. I remember the red and white cooler my mom would pack full of sandwiches and soda, and a beer for my dad. We enjoyed day trips around the island, innertubing, wave-cruising, and overnight camping trips. I remember spending one entire summer in high school sunbathing alone in the anchored boat as it rocked in the waves and wake. I read all of my brother's past issues of junior Sports Illustrated magazines and drank 4 sodas a day in the 17 foot parent-free zone.

Sadly, the boat had been broken for the past several years, missing an obsolete part that my dad finally tracked down halfway across the globe. All those memories sat, nearly forgotten, in the back of the garage. So, when we got the call,  just this past week, that the boat had been resurrected, we all cheered. And today definitely lived up to the anticipation. I loved sharing my old memories with my family. And making some new ones of our very own.

The four of us managed to squeeze in the bow for a`photo. I'm sure the boat looked huge to Jacob, just as it once looked to me.

My parents live right around the corner from the bridge. This is practically their view from every front-facing window.

Jacob enjoyed the waves. In the picture above, I'm certain he's telling me something very important that requires finger gesturing. But I couldn't hear a word he said over the wind.

Ryan looked like a chubby oompa loompa in his life jacket. He loved the boat too. He was relaxed and content the entire ride.

We made a stop at Blake Island. The entire mile-long island is a state park. There's an Indian-style longhouse where tourists enjoy tribal shows over a delicious Pacific Northwest dinner of salmon. My dad, the anti-tourist-in-his-own-home-town, never forked over the money for that. We just played on the beach, picnicked, and camped.

Today, as Jacob skipped happily along the trail to the beach, carefully dodging tiny deer droppings and stopping to pick up a shell or two, a younger version of myself appeared before me. It reminded me how incredible my childhood was, even though I didn't always appreciate it at the time. How wonderful that as parents, we get a second chance at childhood through the eyes of our own children.

When I get bogged down in daily routine and can't see past just making it to the end of each day, it helps to stop for a moment and remember where I came from. Those simple beginnings are enough to put me back in touch with the person that is inhabiting this body of mine. It helps me be thankful for everything and everyone that I have.