Priorities

Traditionally, during the Lent, those forty days and nights leading up to Easter, one gives up something they value. My friend Aly, a soda fanatic, is giving up Mountain Dew and any other carbonated beverage, while my Mom is giving up carbs. I assume my sister Jeanna is giving up cake, cookies, and sweets, as is her usual. Up until early this morning I had intended to give up ice cream, just as I have every year since childhood.

Waking up before the girls this morning, I lay in my bed, eyes closed, letting my mind wander. During those minutes, I went over my plan for the day. First to the library, for our usual story hour, then I will venture to Church alone with the girls for the first time for Ash Wednesday services. I truly hope God has a sense of humor, as I do believe Moira may lose her crap when and if the priest attempts to put ashes on her head.

It was in those minutes I thought about how I spend my day, my usual every day. I will admit I became quite embarrassed as I calculated the amount of time I spent tweeting, blog hopping, Facebooking, pinteresting, and the like.

For all the time I spent on social networking sites, I am losing out on honest, real life socialization.

I am guilty of forgoing playing with my children on occasion for blogging. It abhors me to think of those moments when they ask to play and I respond, "One more minute!" while I'm pinning silly crafts on Pinterest.
Those conversations I could have had with Bry at night are instead missed will I tweet and read updates on facebook.

How much time do I authentically spend in the moment: playing? talking? interacting? really listening?

Not enough.

I can do better.

I will do better.

This year for Lent, I will be giving up my social networking dependence. Starting today, I will eliminate those moments I spend in front of the computer when my children are awake and instead actively become involved. Bye Bye morning twitter and Facebook! No more pinning in between preschool pick up and lunchtime. And maybe, just perhaps all those pins I have on my pin board for Kids will come in handy?

Ben & Jerry's your safe this year, as I'm giving up my bad mommy habits this year for Lent.

Mar

She was:

sweats,

never pink, 

youth XL, 

blue winter cap, 

black sneakers. 

She was:

haircuts at the barber,

a beer at the bar, 

an egg salad sandwich from the Butcher Block,

taco lunch in the cafeteria with her own shells. 

She was:

handball games on the playground, 

"Shutty Uppie",

dancing in gym class,
loving her "turkeys", 

taking up the end of the line, 

being mistaken for one of the kids.  

She was 

on a plane, 

in a boat, 

in her bug, 

around the world, 

under water,

behind the lens. 

She was 

a devoted wife, 

a proud mother, 

a doting grandmother,

a fine travel companion, 

a kick ass class room & lunch room aide, 

and  

one helluva friend. 

She was 

spunk,

fierce,

hysterical, 

loving,

and 

giving. 

She was one of a kind. 

God bless you Mar as you dive into the that great big ocean in the sky. You'll be missed.  

I think there's no limit at the bar up there, though I do think they do expect you to be on your best behavior which might be hard because we know how much you love a good party!


Linking up with Yeah Write this week.
Feel free to partake in a libation in her honor as you make your vote Thursday.
If anyone asks, tell them it's a drink for a friend.
I know she'd get a kick out of that!

Reflection: Ten Years Later

The sky was filled with clouds that seemed to dance across the blue sky. Walking into the school that day, I remember the beauty. The thought that the kids had to get out and play also entered my mind.
It was the first full week of my first Kindergarten class. Luckily, I had been a student teacher the previous fall with many of the children in their inclusive preschool, so we were quite familiar with each other.
As they walked into the room that morning, we were unaware of the life changing events that were occurring only a short train ride away.
I taught in a small town in New Jersey where many of its inhabitants commuted into New York City. In my class of eight, one father worked daily while another made frequent trips. . Their children knew of the taxis and buses, crowds and chaos.
The City was part of their daily life.
It was part of all of our lives.
Being only the fourth day of school, routines were not routine. Our cadence as a group had yet to be established, and so tasks like morning circle were drawn out. In between singing the days of the week and clapping the months of the year, a fellow teacher came to the door. Excusing myself for a moment, I walked over. In hushed tones she relayed the news of a plane crashing into the World Trade Center.
My heart dropped,
But I had to return back to the room.
Pasting a smile on my face, I finished. Only after, as the children were returning their chairs to the table, did I share this news with my classroom assistant.
Without more then a shared gasp, we looked to those little faces.
Their concerns at the moment involved who would sit next to whom. No knowledge of the incident had entered their mind, and that is how it would remain.
We continued on, academic tasks to perform.
On a quick trip to the restroom, I noticed a television had been set up in the teacher lounge. Pausing for a moment, I stood with a coworker. It was at that moment the first tower fell. Our arms reached for each others, an embrace as we witnessed the horror. As I stepped away, into the stall. I let out a gasp and brushed a few tears away.
I had to return to my class, to my responsibilities.
But how?
Walking back to the classroom, I thought of the father who worked in the City. Unsure of his work address, I prayed it was far from the debris.
Taking a deep breath, I walked through the door.
Small faces turned toward me, their smiles contagious, as in chorus, they said "Hello Miss L" as they finished their snack.
For the remainder of the day, I was an actor, playing the part of teacher.
Information would come throughout the day, from the principal walking the halls, to a therapist picking up a student for services. A picture emerged of the events of the day. As these pieces came together, we continued on: Reviewing colors, reading aloud, and free time. The daily activities keeping these little people busy and oblivious to the terror.
A disembodied voice echoed the classroom walls, as we prepared for lunch.
"O's mom is here to pick her up for the day." our school secretary relayed. "Can you bring her down with her things."
As I walked her down to the office. O grabbed my hand. Her mother, with a frantic look on her face, raced over and showered O with kisses and an embrace.
Hesitating, I asked.
"Have you heard from your husband?"
Thankfully, he was safe, and as a precaution she wanted her family together.
Walking back to the classroom, the principal stopped me. We were instructed to remain inside that day.
No one knew what had happened, would could happen. In addition, with the City being so close, thoughts of air pollution tainted our minds. As a precaution were to refrain from the playground during recess.
The sky remained clear, blue, beautiful.
The school day continued, at a snails pace. Dismissal could not come quick enough.
Hurrying home, but a few miles away, Bry's car was already in the drive.
Walking up the stairs to our apartment, I heard muffled voices behind the door.
Upon entering I found Bry and his friend, Jim sitting on our couch, watching the footage.
Both law school students, their classes were cancelled for the remainder of the day. Their law school overlooking the New York skyline, gave many a first hand view of the devastation.
Bry had learned of the events from a note passed amongst his classmates.
We sat watching the footage in disbelief.
I wondered how we could go on?
What would the landscape of our lives look like now?
How could we ever feel safe again?
I know I was not alone with my questions.
Life had to go on, but at what pace?
It started slowly, our recovery.
But that next day, I had school. Back to those little faces and so I continued to act.
I pretended everything was okay, so that they would feel fine, even if I did not feel the least bit fine.
Eventually, over time, I found it easier, and the act dissolved.
However, things would never be the same.

Why?

I pull off near the zoo. The cars and trucks line up, creating usual traffic on this exit. Looking back into the rear view mirror, their heads bob to the music.
"I love Laurie" Mo yells. "It's the Goldfish, Mama, you're favorite".
Our newly purchased The Best of Laurie Berkner Band CD has been on steady rotation in our car for the past two weeks. The guitar strums as her voice continues to stream through the speakers,
"Let's go swimming, Let's go swimming, Hey Let's go swimming" she sings.
My foot releases the gas, as we creep forward.
My mind wanders.
I can't believe the gym didn't call me back. I really need to get the girls in swim lessons ASAP. Should I call again.
"Let's go swimming, at the bottom of the ocean".
Hitting the break again, we wait.
"Are we almost there?" Mo asks.
"Almost," I respond, as we move up, making it to the stop sign.
Cars zip past this intersection, as I wait for an opening. Carefully I inch forward, and pull out into the right hand lane. I pull the turn signal down, indicating our intention of turning right. In front of me, two cars sit, their flashers blinking the same.
"Why she standing there, mama?" Mo asks.
"Huh?" my response muffled as I look to check her sister. Safely secured in her car seat, I ask Mo, "What are you talking about?"
"That girl" she ask, "over there on the sidewalk. What she doing? Why she have water bottle in her hand? She thirsty?"
Standing at the corner, I see the girl.
No older then eight.
She stands immediately at the corner.
Her black hair plaited in rows, wearing brown flip flops, white tank top and pink shorts.
In each hand she holds a bottle, water in the left, orange Gatorade in the right.
Her face carries a purpose.
Like a tightrope, she balances her weight on the curb. Walking along, she bends her head. Her face meets each driver. She says nothing, but her eyes glimmer.
She gestures to her bottles, as the driver nods no. She offers a small smile and takes a few steps.
"She's selling drinks" I tell Mo. "She's making sure everyone has water or juice since it's hot".
I turn to the sidewalk and see an older woman. Perhaps her mother, I assume. Bending over two large coolers, she adjusts the ice. Picking up and replacing water bottles, in that moment she pays no mind to the girl.
Their roles are clear.
One foot crosses over the other, as she continues to balance on the curb as she comes closer. Her face peers in through the passenger window as my face meets her gaze. I nod no.
I want to pull her into the car with me.
I want to take her to the park with my girls.
I want her to play, run, laugh, and act the way I expect a child to act on a warm summer day.
I wish I had a few dollars to hand to her.
But in this moment, my wallet is empty.
I can offer her nothing but an apologetic nod.
The small smile comes across momentarily as she walks away.

I want to be able to tell Mo that this girl will be fine, but honestly I don't know.

The light turns green. The girl takes a few steps back from the curb, returning to the solace of coolers and the older woman.
My eyes stay transfixed, waiting.
A horn blows, and I press on the gas, watching the girl as I turn away.

Actions speak louder then words, or do they?

 This week for the Dare to Share Link Up I'd like you to link to a post about your dream job, what you wanted to be when you grew up as a child...what you want to be now. Tell us about your dreams and how you're going to make them come true. This post can be old or new, fiction or nonfiction, poetry or prose. All that I ask in return is that you grab a button from our sidebar and try to visit and thoughtfully comment on at least three other posts.

Upon reading the prompt this week for the Lightning and Lightning Bug's dare to share post, I immediately knew this was it. I have reposted this from it's initial date over a year ago, May 17, 2010 to be exact. Maeve has since learned not only to sit up but walk, run and even talk a bit, and Mo's passion for the Wiggles has been replaced for that of the Fresh Beat Band. I'm still not sure what is worse.


From the time I was a little girl I always remember my mom and dad telling me that I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up. While I sometimes played veterinarian with my pound puppies or office with the stapler and role of scotch tape, I usually found myself as the 'teacher' to my classroom of miscellaneous stuffed animals, Cabbage Patch Kids, and my little brother and sister, who were my students. I guess, there was never any denying that I would become a teacher.
As I got into middle then high school, I started working at the local YMCA. Surprise, surprise, I was a lifeguard! (Who would have thought the kid that was a competitive swimmer since age five would get a job in a pool.) While I found the social aspect of the job to be fun, I enjoyed teaching swim lessons 100 times more. I eventually let my life guarding certification lapse so that I could teach swim lessons.
When it became time to apply to college, I looked at schools that had education programs that had access to real school classrooms early on, and hence my decision to go to Seton Hall. I remember reading some statistic that most college students change their major a few times, but me, never wavered. Declared myself a dual special education/elementary education major from day one and I never looked back. I ultimately did my student teaching in the same district I was hired and worked there until the birth of Mo. During the last few years, I pursued my Master's degree from Rutgers in education with the idea that possibly I would consider getting my doctorate some day and then teach how to teach.
I knew deep down when I was pregnant with Mo that I would never go back to my job as a first grade teacher. I honestly and truly LOVED what I did. I had a ball with those 6 and 7 year olds every day and worked in a fantastic district. I had been there nearly 8 years when I left, which meant I basically knew my way around the district. I was a familiar face with the families in our school, parents requested me for their children, and I was even complimented by one father as being the "Progressive one" out of the four first grades. I did some things in Room 8 that I knew no other first grade teacher in the district was doing.
I mean, who really has conversations about race and gender with 6 or 7 year olds?
I did!
Who would scour freebies from the grocery store, fast food restaurant, own mother etc... to use in the weekly class auction?
Umm, again that would be me.
Not to toot my own horn, but I was good, the kids learned AND had fun doing it, and I felt blessed to have a job which I loved.
When I had Mo, I went on maternity leave and then took off the next year. She was born on April 1 and again, because of our contract any child born April 1 or after, one's leave does not count for that calendar year, I took off another year. I got pregnant with Maeve and then this March sent in my official resignation, and thus with one letter and signature, my time and tenure are over.
Now I'm full time mommy, yes, a full time mommy with a bachelor's degree in special and elementary education and a master's degree in education too! I have these pieces of paper but really, what are they doing for me now? A M.Ed really doesn't help one take care of their three and half month old at four a.m. nor does my special ed. degree help me figure out how to get my two year old to be potty trained.
I do not second guess my decision to stay home with my girls, but I wonder what me being here and not being in the workforce says to them. All too often I remember hearing as I grew up that I could be anything I wanted to be. Dream big, they would say- astronaut, oceanographer, doctor, or teacher. Yes, I WAS a teacher. I HAD that profession, but I gave it up to be a mom.
I wonder if my girls will value this?
Will they think I copped out?
Will they underestimate their own potential because I'm not that professional role model?
I want to be everything for my girls, but I realize I may have to relinquish this role to someone else. My sister, luckily, can be that strong role model in the workforce for them as she is the pediatrician, and maybe, just maybe, I'll jump back in to the education field in the future.
I know I'm getting ahead of myself, as Maeve has yet to sit up and I just bet if you ask Mo what she wants to be when she grows up she'll probably say "a guitar" or member of the "Wiggles", but I can't help but wonder now.
I do know, however, that like my parents before me, me and Bry alike will tell our girls that they can be whatever they want in this big world - whether a Wiggle, or doctor or teacher or yes, even a mommy.

Bright Girls?

Recently I read an article entitled The Trouble with Bright Girls by Heidi Grant Halvorsen, PhD. For the most part, Halvorsen explains that while the male counterparts have the confidence to push on when frustrated, often females become withdrawn in the school setting. This in turn affects the development of our self-concept. She writes, "We(Women) continue to carry these beliefs, often unconsciously, around with us throughout our lives. And because Bright Girls are particularly likely to see their abilities as innate and unchangeable, they grow up to be women who are far too hard on themselves -- women who will prematurely conclude that they don't have what it takes to succeed in a particular arena, and give up way too soon."

As I read this piece, I couldn't help but think of my sister and myself, and then of course, I thought of Mo & Maeve. My sister is a pediatrician and one of the most studious people I have ever met. She is the type who will begin studying for an exam weeks before test day. She graduated second in her high school class and second in her class in college (she will curse the tin flute grade she got while studying abroad in Ireland over that). With all that accomplished, she still will tell you that she isn't that smart. She was offered two different placements to two different medical schools after a post-baccalaureate year and after finishing her residency earned a fellowship, which she ultimately turned down. She is smart, but like Halvorsen wrote, she is far too hard on herself. She looks at herself in terms of what she is not, instead of what she has accomplished. She is a successful professional and yet she still has that skewed view of herself.
I saw myself in this piece too. I have written before of my struggle with choosing to end my career as a teacher to stay at home full time and my hopes and fears of raising strong girls. I worry that my girls will succumb to this notion and in essence, become they're own worst enemies. I want them to be everything they want to be and have the confidence in themselves to do it.
I love my husband for many reasons, but in relation to this article I think of his confidence. He knows he is smart, period.
He may not be the most athletic and Lord knows he is not handy in the least, however he is smart. One cannot debate that with him. He tells me all the time, that I am too, and while I nod my head in agreement, most of the time I wonder if I'm nearly as intelligent as he believes. Is this what Halvorsen means? Is it because Bry's a guy that he is able to own his intelligence, while I debate it?
I have said on here in the past that I love school- both as a teacher and a student. I have talked about the possibility of returning to graduate school but for some reason I drag my feet over this. Reading this piece made me truly wonder if a part of me thinks I won't be able to handle it, and so instead of the chance of failure, I remain passive. I do nothing on the school front.
Is that what I would want for Mo or Maeve to do? Hell, is that what I would want for anyone I love to do, To be fearful of failing?
Heavy stuff for a Friday afternoon, right?
Reading pieces like this make me want to be that role model for Mo & Maeve. The one that is confident and smart and positive, because their eyes and ears are always open, even when I may not realize it.



On a lighter note, How about some pictures?
Mo & her birdhouse

Blue Glass & Ivory Soap

Blue Glass & Ivory Soap
These are the two things that come to mind when I think of my grandmother. From the time I was very little, I remember fondly going to visit Mommom & Poppop and looking at her collection of little blue glass bottles which she displayed on the window sill. There was something stunning about the way light comes through the bright blue glass on a window ledge. For years and years, Mommom collected various sizes and shapes of glass in blue. She has candy dishes, and vases, small little containers and larger ones from places like the thrift store she volunteers to vacations in Vegas. Most of these pieces sat in her large china cabinet in her dining room.
Not too long after my grandfather passed away, Mommom sold her row house in my hometown and moved into a brand new apartment complex for those over 55. While her new place was smaller, it had plenty of room for her most prized possessions, including her collection of blue glass and her large cabinet. I remember unwrapping the various pieces as we set them up in her new place. While the smaller bottles moved from the front window ledge to a shelf in her kitchen, seeing those pieces made it feel like Mommom's home to me.
She had been living for a few years in this new place, when just recently the rent went up...a lot. So much so, that Mommom debated whether she could afford to remain. Luckily, a vacant one bedroom became available and Mommom jumped on it! Again, this meant she would have to pack up her belongings and move. This time however, she was losing quite a bit of space. Instead of two bedrooms, she would now how one. Instead of two bathrooms, she would have one. She lost a storage area, closet, and a few feet in her living room.
She called me as she was packing up yet again, and asked if we would want some pieces of furniture- a dresser/small buffet and a table. A few days before we went,s she sent out an email saying that she was getting rid of her blue glass. I honestly cannot fathom Mommom's home without it.
Of course, I said yes to the furniture and yes to the blue glass, and a few weeks ago Mo, Maeve, & I ventured to Mommom's place to pick up these pieces. She had already gotten the keys to her new apartment, which Mo referred to as the attic since it was on the top floor, and so we were able to look at what would become her new home. It was brighter then the other apartment, but definitely smaller. When we went back to her former apartment, she showed me the green suit she had worn when she eloped with my grandfather all those years ago. She chuckled as she told me how she couldn't believe she had held onto it over all those year, and more so, how embarrassed she was that she had kept it in a plastic bag instead of taking it to the cleaners. She showed me the small buffet which now sits in our dining room waiting for a piece a marble/granite, and then the table which she said had always been her favorite, but now she had no room for it.
Finally, she showed me the large Rubbermaid container of blue glass and encouraged me to look through it. Honestly, at that moment I couldn't.
I left that day with the buffet and the table in the car, and the understanding that my grandmother would hold off giving me the blue glass until she had picked pieces herself for her new place.
Last week my dad dropped off the rubbermaid container. I do not know if Mommom kept any pieces, as we haven't made it to her new place yet. I opened up the container and found a shoebox filled with my favorite thing: the little blue bottles. There are 24 and by sheer coincidence 24 panes in the windows of our dining room. Talk about perfect fit, right?

I have yet to go through the rest of the box, mainly because I'm not quite sure where I can put any more pieces. I do know, however, that I will find a space for some of them.
Oh yeah, I titled this post- Blue Glass & Ivory Soap and realize I never mentioned this soap. Do you remember how smells trigger memories? Well whenever I smell ivory soap, immediately, wherever I am, a picture of my Mommom pops into my head! Lucky me, my Mommom doesn't smell like moth balls or old lady perfume, she smells clean and fresh and exactly like Ivory Soap!

All Grown Up?

There are many different milestones throughout a child's life. The first smile, rolling over, steps, words - these are often captured with video or photographs and our excitement transferred through phone calls and conversations. It seems as our children get older those first moments seem to come at longer time intervals and for the most part, don't seem to get the same amount of excitement and hoopla as those baby ones. Sure, we take pictures of the first day of school each year and a first trip or date, but these moments become less exciting and momentous as our kids get older.
Mo is only 2 years and 10 months, but I feel like she is already getting so old. Between her conversation skills and opinions, she has developed into a real little person.
What I often have to remind myself is that while things I do everyday are mundane and routine for me, for Mo many of these experiences are new and exciting. It's these little firsts that happen all the time that are helping my little girl grow up and I'm along for the ride to witness them. Little things like drinking from a real cup can be added to the list. Mo was so proud of herself that she was able to drink apple juice like a "big girl". She had always had sippy cups or straw cups before this moment, and take notice of her face in the last picture. She unfortunately spilled a bit of the juice all over her shirt and face.






The other day, I happened to pick up Oreos from the grocery store. Mo enjoyed her cookie quite good. As I handed her the cookie, she said something to the effect of "I'm so excited!" and that is when I realized this was her first Oreo. The camera happened to be on the table so I clicked away.



There are still quite a number of big firsts left in Mo's life and reasons for me to celebrate. I can only anticipate the number of photos I will take in September when she starts preschool. Until then, I will, however, really try to take in all these little firsts and make them celebrations too!

In Defense of Our Minivan

Way back before children, Bry and I imagined the life we'd live. We wished for beautiful children playing soccer in the backyard of our nice house with a decent size kitchen and yard with the medium sized mutt of a dog we'd rescue from the SPCA frolicking at our ankles while the suv was parked in the driveway. So far, we've got the kids (one of whom is obsessed with soccer), the nice (okay, potentially nice) house, the dog is on hold until all kids are out of diapers, and we had the Ford Escape in our driveway.

For a while, it was as close to perfection as we imagined, and then Bryan got in a car accident and all that changed.

He's fine, but his car- a 2004 Saturn Ion- was not. After the insurance company assessed the damages, we realized it was probably not really worth it to fix the car. After a week of debating and Internet research we decided-gulp- to get a minivan.

Somehow, someone or groups of someones decided that minivans were bad. Obviously these people did not have more then one child in a car seat at a time.

The reality of the situation is that for many the purchase of a minivan is equated with the loss of being "cool" and also the acknowledgement that one is now an adult. Driving a Porsche = luxury and decadence while driving a minivan = responsibility and reliability. Being responsible is a bad word, I guess. When you are single, the idea of needing room for car seats and a trunk large enough for a double stroller does not enter your mind. However, when you've got two kids still in diapers and car seats and strollers and all their other stuff your opinion starts to change. You long for a car that can fit all their things, the possibility of another child, and yet still have room for more then one other grown-up.

We had discussed getting a new SUV with a third row. Having seen the commericals for the Chevy Traverse, I was smitten. This could be the car that saved us from minivans. It could fit seven (or eight) comfortably. I could have room for two car seats plus all their stuff and still have more then one other adult in the car with us.

Sign me up for the Traverse.

Well, the price tag of the Traverse and every other SUV made my eyes bulge. Most start at $30,000! Factor in the fact that this was an unexpected car purchase, so our purse strings were crying- NO! NO! NO!.

Of the 40 SUVS with third rows, only 14 are under $35,000 and if you look at those, only one is under $25,000- the Dodge Journey. The third row on most of these cars involves folding down a seat. If we had two car seats attached, how easy would it be to access the third row? My guess it would be a production of epic proportions.

So price and design took us out of purchasing a SUV, leaving us with one option: the minivan.

We settled on a 2010 Kia Sedona which is by far the best bang for your buck in terms of minivans. I never thought I'd be happy about owning a minivan, but I honestly am. It has enough room for the four of us, two car seats and all that other crap, plus enough room in the back row to fit three other people comfortably. I can safely get Mo and Maeve in and out of the car when we park on street, and I look forward to possible car trips now that there is enough room for everything.

The anti-minivan stance is just plain silly when you think about it. Bry was so freaked out about what having a minivan meant that I really couldn't wrap my head around it. But I guess, I kind of figured it out. Buying the minivan was the last big step making us grown-ups. I guess for some people it's buying your first home, for others the birth of their first child, and for Bry it was the minivan.

We're officially grown-ups now!

We'll have to wait until we have that empty nest to get the two seater Porsche.

Taken for Granted Sometimes is a Good Thing

My favorite thing about being a mom is that my daughter takes me for granted.
In the spirit of Thanksgiving, someone had posted on the message board I frequent a question asking for the best thing about being a stay at home mom. Someone responded in the way above and it resonated so true for me.

Mo has just started to develop an attachment to Bry. When he's working she often asks when he is coming home and often says "I sad. I miss my dad." She will tell anyone who asks that "Daddy works" and often in the morning she tells him, "Dad, get a shower. You go to work." She stops whatever she is doing the moment he walks in the door to welcome him home. Often yelling before the keys have even been removed from the lock, "Hi Dad! I miss you".
I have never gotten that from her.
To Mo, I am her constant. I don't leave in the morning. I don't even know if Mo thinks I shower? I'm usually the first face she sees when she wakes up and the last voice she hears before nap time. I'm always around. I provide the routine and structure. I give out most of the rewards and conversely, most of the punishments. When she needs a hug, or band aid or cup of juice, it's mommy she finds.
It's me at music class or the library or the grocery store pushing the huge ass shopping cart with the car in the front. It's me who can understand "Mo-ese" and translate to whomever she is speaking. It's me who changes yet another dirty diaper, or spilled sippy of milk or grass stained jean. When we go to the park, it's "Mommy" that Mo calls out and my eyes she looks to meet.
By taking me for granted, I know Mo feels safe and secure. She has her own little world where I am always available for her and only her, (okay, she has to share me with her sister.) Right now, this is my role in our family. I'm the one who stays home and is with the kids all the time.
She expects me to always be around. I guess you could say, she takes me for granted.
Do you know what?
That's okay with me.

What are we really saying?

I must confess.
I love(d) school.
I enjoy learning and reading and even writing.
I got my Masters in education a month and a half after Mo and have yet to really use the degree for monetary gains, however I do find myself reflecting a lot on the things I learned now as a parent.
I had a wonderful professor in graduate school who challenged me to think. She offered extensive opportunities to read viewpoints from across the spectrum in dealing with race, ethnicity, and gender. She was a tough grader but made her students push themselves. I liked her, I liked what she stood for, and I liked the way she made me excel.
I find myself often thinking about my gender studies now as a mom of two little girls. We debated in class the idea of nature versus nurture. How much does a parent affect their child in terms of identity? How much do they explicitly do? How much do they unknowingly push gender roles on their child?
Heavy, I know, but I find myself thinking about this often.
I have been told by quite a few people that "little girls are easy when they're younger, but a pain once they're in high school." Bry has even joked that once our girls hit their teens he's going to start drinking.
Why do teenage girls or rather my girls as teens already have a stigma attached?
They don't have to be difficult. They don't have to emotional, or do they? Will my girls succumb to peer pressure and think they're too fat or not pretty enough? What can I do to try and prevent them from becoming that girl?
I don't know but I sure as hell am going to try my best to raise strong, independent girls.
Bryan often tells Mo she's beautiful and I agree. However, I don't stop there. I tell her that she's strong and smart too and that she is capable of doing anything she wants as long as she works hard.
Will this make a difference in who she becomes?
I hope so.
I mentioned it before in this post about my feelings of conflict over whether I am being a good female role model for Mo & Maeve.
While I am still conflicted at times, I do realize that being home with them all the time gives me a really unique perspective. Raising little girls is difficult. I am first hand witness as they interact in different situations with a different types of people. I am trying to help navigate the world with them. They come in contact with a variety of messages throughout the day both from me and from their environment- media, peers, television. All these things play a part in molding their personalities.
Maeve is still too little, however I can see Mo's personality more. One she is comfortable she is outgoing. She plays and speaks and uses her manners as best as she can remember. She goes out of her way to talk to other kids and adults and often will make sure Maeve is okay too. I am proud and hopeful that I am giving her the right foundation for later in life. So that Mo will remain not only beautiful, but strong and smart and kind.
If my professor were to ask me today about the roles of nature versus nurture and the role of parents in child development, I would definitely posit that nurture plays a greater role then nature in determining success. I believe it's not my DNA that is hopefully creating a great kid, it's my daily interactions with her that make the bigger difference.

Responsibilities

Amongst my friends on facebook I came across "Vicky Bell's blog post and was both touched and inspired as I read her words in response to the recent suicides. I know my girls are still babies, but time goes by quickly and before I know it they will be out in that big bad world. What will I say to my daughters? Here's what I'm thinking so far:

Dear Mo & Maeve,
Life is not easy all the time.
There will be moments where you may make a decision that you regret. You will hurt people you love. You will say something you cannot take back. You will do something you know you shouldn't and have regrets over it. You will fear the repercussions of your actions and dread the consequences. You will value the opinions of others over your own and then wonder what motivated you to do so. You will fight with me, your father, and each other. You will make friends and people who you think are friends. People will surprise you and some will let you down.
Life is the sum of all these moments and experiences. It isn't always easy or pretty or happy, but just know it will get better.
There may be a moment where you are uncomfortable talking to me and that is okay. I hope that you have the know with all to find someone to talk. There will be moments where you think you have let me down, and I want you to know, I will always love you. I may disapprove of your actions but nothing you ever do or say will stop me from loving you.
The best things I have in my life are not things at all, the best things are you two. Moira and Maeve I love you with all of my heart and feel so lucky to be your mom.

Good Mom, Sucky Wife

Growing up I knew my parents loved each other. I could just see in their eyes that they were each others' soul mates. I did notice one thing, they always put our needs, that is the kids needs, first and at times it was to a fault. My mom mentioned once that it was always all about us, and while I am thankful, I wish my parents spent more time for just them. I'm grateful, don't get me wrong. Looking back, I think it would have been great for just the two of them to have date nights to the movies or dinners out. We would have survived a weekend with an aunt or family friend, so they could go to the beach alone together.
They did finally figure that out, of course, I was in college by then, but they did get their "we" time.
So here I am, this time in the role of the mom and wife and guess what? I seem to be falling into that same trap. If I don't say so myself, I totally ROCK the mom role! My girls seem to be thriving and happy. We do music, play dates, trips, and have fun most of the time doing it. My relationship with my husband, well, it too seems to revolve around our girls. While that isn't a bad thing, I don't think it's the best thing for us.
I can only imagine that there are people reading this that think I'm crazy. But honestly, my relationship with Bry needs to be just as important as my relationship with Mo & Maeve. Our family is not just the kids, it is also Bry and I as husband and wife. We need to make time for just us. To have conversation (and maybe even a meal without chicken nuggets) that is beyond kid talk. We need to have time to enjoy things alone.
Is that selfish?
Perhaps.
But I also think it's good for my girls. Besides the time they will get away from me, because God knows they need it too, it will also give them the chance to see their parents in a healthy relationship with each other.
I need to put some more effort into this because Bry deserves it. He is an amazing dad and pretty good husband too. Hell he puts up with me and that says a lot!

Our own harshest critic

I have spent a bunch of time discussing (or maybe whining about) my own current status as a full time stay at home mama.
I apologize.
It seems like the transition to full time caregiver is hard on lots of people. My friend Tricia's hubby Jay is going through his own catharsis of sorts as he has become as stay at home dad by accident after becoming unemployed. He's writing about it on his blog and what he has said really has made me think about our own relationship and role as parents.

Today is Father's Day, and guess what, Bry made US breakfast?
That's not a typo. Bry spent his Father's day morning in the kitchen making pancakes from scratch and heating up pork roll. Where was I? Well, first I was sleeping in a little later (as I had another migraine yesterday and that coupled with Maeve nursing at 4, wiped me out!) and then I was feeding Maeve, a task Bry can't do until she's on the cup.
I remember thinking before Mo, that my relationship with Bry would not change too much with the addition of a kid. I mean, really? The baby would hopefully have the best parts of me & him, so really how much could it change us?
I underestimated the time and energy required to be a full time stay at home mom and while our relationship was different it changed as we no longer could just go. Every decision took into account three lives versus just the two of us.
That underestimation repeated itself full-on this past January when Maeve was born.
Our time as a couple is all but non-existent. It's getting better as both girls are now down for the night by 9, but half those nights I'm toast. Thank God for our front porch where we have spent a few nights drinking wine and talking. I missed those conversations.
Bry is working long hours so his time with the girls is limited. There are moments that I am jealous of him as he walks out in the morning, in his dress clothes, off to converse with adults and pee with the door shut.
But I know, these hours make him feel like a sucky father. He is not a workhorse by choice, more by necessity. There are some people that define themselves by the career they choose and Bryan, however, is not one of these people.
Family comes first with Bry, and to be honest I am forever grateful. I know he will (and has) given up opportunities to work in higher paying, more prestigious positions, which would have required more time at the office and he did this because he likes to be with us.
If you ask him, regardless of this he still describes himself as a sucky dad. I would say that "sucky" is probably the furthest choice of adjectives I would choose to describe him.
We are, however, our own harshest critics.
He doesn't really see how Mo's eyes light up when he pulls in the driveway before dinner while she yells "DAD, DAD, DAD". I think he's forgetting how much Maeve smiles when her daddy holds her. I think he just thinks about the moments he misses while slaving away at his job. I know he doesn't realize how much I truly appreciate every meal he picks up so that I don't have to worry about cooking, or that he takes Mo up every night for her bedtime routine. It's those swim classes with Mo and trips to the bagel shop after and the silly goofy faces he makes to get Maeve to giggle that are defining himself as a good dad.
I am so thankful he works at a job that he doesn't really care for, so that I can stay here full time. I am lucky to have a husband who still tells me I'm beautiful in a spit-up covered t-shirt and my hair thrown up into a ponytail.

He's critical of what he doesn't get done, whereas I am so thankful for all that he does do for Maeve, Mo, and I. He often says he doesn't do nearly enough but honestly, without him I would be a complete and utter failure as a mother. I don't think he knows how very lost I would be without him.

So this Father's Day, I thank you Bry- as my husband, as my children's father, and as my best friend.
You are still my favorite!

How we define ourselves

Yesterday I was talking to my 7 year old neighbor about school. As the school year comes to a close, I can't help but ask her a plethora of questions. How did you like first grade? Did you have a fun year? Did you like your teacher? Are you excited to be a second grader. In the midst of these questions, she caught me off guard. She asked, "Aren't you glad school is over too?"
Of course, I was a bit confused. Why would I have an opinion on the end of the school year for myself. I was happy for her and all the other kids on the block that summer vacation was just around the corner and I sympathized with the teachers who were dealing with all the end of the year b.s. that needs to be finished. But myself, was "I" glad the school year was over?
I said, "well, yes I guess." to which she responded, "Are you sad to leave your class?"
I got it then. She knew I HAD been a first grade teacher, and assumed I was still doing it.
I quickly clarified, "Well, J I haven't been a teacher this year or last year. I have been home with Mo & Maeve."
She says, "So, you'll go back next year?"
Me: "Uh, no. I resigned."
J:"Well what does that mean?"
I go through some eloquent explanation where I tell J that I have decided to stop teaching to stay home with the girls. I explain how I loved what I did, but I want to be here for the girls now that they are little. I go on and on and apparently this definition fell on deaf ears because she responds.
"Oh, so you quit!"
I am taken aback. I didn't quit!
You quit soccer because your coach is sexist (Remember when I was 8 mom & dad), you quit piano because you hate practicing, you quit field hockey in high school because frankly you suck, but you don't quit a job you loved in exchange for becoming a stay at home mom.
Resigning isn't quitting.
Resigning gives you the opportunity to keep a relationship with many of the families and co-workers you have meant over 8 years. Resigning demonstrates integrity. Resigning is professional while quitting, well, it's not.
I think for a moment about this and then I realize to a 7 year old, there is no difference.
I quit teaching to stay at home.
It's all semantics anyway.
I never regretted quitting those times above, but on some days a bit of regret comes over me in terms of quitting, errr, resigning my teaching position.
Like any kid, within in minutes I know that this conversation had left J's brain, but I know for me it's going to remain one of those defining moments where I said it out loud that I chose spending time with my kids over my job.
I guess, now you can call me a quitter. I hope my kids thank me someday.