This is going to be a short post, but today at lunch we all cracked up at stories about people mishearing words of cliches or lyrics to songs. Each person had a story about a "language fail," and it got me thinking about how we form our relationships with language. Some people are very into words-- how they sound, what they mean, what they suggest. I think I might be one of those people-- a total word dork-- and not just in terms of studying etymology. I like to think about the connotations of words and why we use them the way we do. I have a whole book of common phrases and where they came from (Anyone want to know the story of where "rule of thumb" came from? It's bad-- it's about a guy beating people...) I think a lot too about how hard the English language must be to learn, especially for kids in the ELL program. It's gotta be challenging to memorize that the "ough" sound in "through," "rough," and "bough" is pronounced differently in each case. And I ponder what Mabel must be thinking when she hears us talk. I'm sure she is formulating lots of language in her little brain right now, but do babies think most of what we say is gibberish, even once they start learning context and association? Someone in my period 8 class said that her Vietnamese friend told her she thought spoken English sounded like a dog barking. Yet, we talk and talk-- never realizing how FAST and maybe even DULL our words can sound to others.
It's easy, with such an expansive language as English, to mess things up as we are learning. We've got more cliches than anyone could count, and lots of idioms too (remember Amelia Bedelia, who didn't get metaphors/ allusions? When she was told to draw the drapes, she took out a crayon and paper). Yet, sometimes, even without thinking, we just learn said idioms and start using them. We might not even know what they mean (unless you've got that handy book I was talking about above :)). I started thinking about the language fails I was responsible for as a kid. Here are a few:
1. I thought "blind drive" meant the person who lived at the house was blind, so please watch out.
2. I thought a person referred to as (or as not) a Rhodes Scholar was a "road scholar," meaning he/ she was so smart that he/she had traveled a long academic road, and was covering a long road of knowledge... you know, to eventually end up at Harvard or something. On the road to success!
3. I thought the word primadonna was "pre- Madonna," meaning the person was a young version of the celeb. Like, she's headed to be a real rich, and maybe famous, but snotty *itch. Or she liked to show off her bod or something. Regardless, I thought of Madge.
4. I thought the phrase zero due at signing on those car commercials was "zero 'do it!' signing," alluding to a system whereby if you just "did it!" on the spot (the car purchase) you wouldn't have to pay anything at the signing. Zero "do it RIGHT NOW!" signing!!!!
I know I've had more, and I'm excited to think more about them (yup, dorking it up). What language fails (ok, maybe that's harsh- "language snafus"??) have you heard or executed? :)
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Generations
I remember a line from the movie Clueless where one of the main characters makes the revelation: "So the way I feel about Rolling Stones is the way my kids are gonna feel about Nine Inch Nails, so I probably shouldn't torture my mom anymore" (or something like that). Clueless is, in many ways, an excellent piece of satire, and it focuses a lot of its satire on my generation. (I'm not sure if we are considered Gen X, clinging to the tail of this demographic as its last inhabitants, but from what I have heard, yes. We are too old to be part of the Digital Natives, so we mid- nineties- high school grads get clumped into X. It makes sense really. We grew up loving John Hughes movies and playing Atari, after all.)
But Clueless is also a good sort of time- capsule- ish movie. I think it came out when I was a junior in high school or so, making me the same age, more or less, as the high schoolers it depicts. I remember Contempo (or 'Contrampo') Casuals at the mall, and the short plaid skirt with the thigh- highs trend. And then came the Birkenstocks with socks and fringey- bottomed jeans. We listened to Radiohead and Coolio. We said things like, 'As if!' I think Clueless is funny because of the satire, but I also like watching it because it gives me a fun, secure sense of "back then."
A lot of the kids I teach have seen Clueless and have even referred to it in front of me, which cracks me up because they probably think it to be some really radical, almost Indie look at the nineties. It's like how I felt cool for having seen Dazed and Confused. But anyhoo, the kids seem fascinated with nineties culture because they were only toddlers (frightening). They don't know that Alicia Silverstone was also in those Aerosmith videos (because some of them have never seen a music video-- ever), and perhaps more alarming many of them don't know who Winona Ryder or Shannen Doherty is. It's inconceivable to me, but why would they when they have grown up with t- shirts depicting Team Edward and fan bracelets for Owl City. It's funny how fast pop culture-- and really all culture-- changes. Celebs go in and out, as do trends and music. And we, too, forget things quickly, even though as adults we can look back and recall.
Observing this weird divide between my generation and my students' has gotten me wondering about what the hell will be cool or popular when Mabel's age group is in high school. I worry that they will all be such tech junkies that they won't know how to socialize. That they will all just be driving Smart Cars around and will have cell phones the size of pencil erasers but that are full- blown personal computers (okay, so it's not going to be like The Jetsons, I know, I know...). But it's funny to think that their generation will be so separated from the one that is currently in high school. I guess it's funny because I can't imagine things becoming any more futuristic than they are now, but of course they will be. Mabel's age group will think Justin Bieber to be a lame has- been (which I pray happens soon :)), and they will think The Hunger Games to be an outdated fantasy series. They will probably even scoff at Facebook and AIM (or will they?).
Things tend to come full circle, though, because for a while, I did think the Rolling Stones was a stupid band-- even if only because my dad was pushing it on us and how could ANYTHING my parents liked be even remotely cool?! And then somewhere around 19, I ditched Nine Inch Nails and the like for the Stones. I said, hmm, these guys can sing, and every song is different. No wonder they are the most famous rock n' roll band of all time. And my kids are starting to see the huge cultural shift that the grunge music of the 90s created in our world. They're like, "Wow, Eddie Vedder is awesome and I really wish that Kurt Cobain dude didn't kill himself back in the Stone Age. And that Biggie guy, and also Tupac. None of those Stone Age guys should have died because they made totally dope music." (Yes, old people-- "dope" as an adjective is all the rage now... again. See? Cycle.)
So maybe one day the kids of Mabel's generation will be saying how much they hate Taylor Swift or Justin Bieber because they're just sooo lame, but then later they will be, like, hmmmm, no, the music is so inspiring. Oh, gosh, scary!! The precursor artists for Mabel's generation are not leaving us anything time- capsule- ish. So, maybe, justtttt maybe, this whole cyclical thing will skip a gen. I'd love it if Mabel started to listen to 90s rock, but I fear for her musical enlightenment if all we can give them is T- Swift and One Direction. But my parents were probably saying the same about Nine Inch Nails, and that kid from Clueless had a point.
But Clueless is also a good sort of time- capsule- ish movie. I think it came out when I was a junior in high school or so, making me the same age, more or less, as the high schoolers it depicts. I remember Contempo (or 'Contrampo') Casuals at the mall, and the short plaid skirt with the thigh- highs trend. And then came the Birkenstocks with socks and fringey- bottomed jeans. We listened to Radiohead and Coolio. We said things like, 'As if!' I think Clueless is funny because of the satire, but I also like watching it because it gives me a fun, secure sense of "back then."
A lot of the kids I teach have seen Clueless and have even referred to it in front of me, which cracks me up because they probably think it to be some really radical, almost Indie look at the nineties. It's like how I felt cool for having seen Dazed and Confused. But anyhoo, the kids seem fascinated with nineties culture because they were only toddlers (frightening). They don't know that Alicia Silverstone was also in those Aerosmith videos (because some of them have never seen a music video-- ever), and perhaps more alarming many of them don't know who Winona Ryder or Shannen Doherty is. It's inconceivable to me, but why would they when they have grown up with t- shirts depicting Team Edward and fan bracelets for Owl City. It's funny how fast pop culture-- and really all culture-- changes. Celebs go in and out, as do trends and music. And we, too, forget things quickly, even though as adults we can look back and recall.
Observing this weird divide between my generation and my students' has gotten me wondering about what the hell will be cool or popular when Mabel's age group is in high school. I worry that they will all be such tech junkies that they won't know how to socialize. That they will all just be driving Smart Cars around and will have cell phones the size of pencil erasers but that are full- blown personal computers (okay, so it's not going to be like The Jetsons, I know, I know...). But it's funny to think that their generation will be so separated from the one that is currently in high school. I guess it's funny because I can't imagine things becoming any more futuristic than they are now, but of course they will be. Mabel's age group will think Justin Bieber to be a lame has- been (which I pray happens soon :)), and they will think The Hunger Games to be an outdated fantasy series. They will probably even scoff at Facebook and AIM (or will they?).
Things tend to come full circle, though, because for a while, I did think the Rolling Stones was a stupid band-- even if only because my dad was pushing it on us and how could ANYTHING my parents liked be even remotely cool?! And then somewhere around 19, I ditched Nine Inch Nails and the like for the Stones. I said, hmm, these guys can sing, and every song is different. No wonder they are the most famous rock n' roll band of all time. And my kids are starting to see the huge cultural shift that the grunge music of the 90s created in our world. They're like, "Wow, Eddie Vedder is awesome and I really wish that Kurt Cobain dude didn't kill himself back in the Stone Age. And that Biggie guy, and also Tupac. None of those Stone Age guys should have died because they made totally dope music." (Yes, old people-- "dope" as an adjective is all the rage now... again. See? Cycle.)
So maybe one day the kids of Mabel's generation will be saying how much they hate Taylor Swift or Justin Bieber because they're just sooo lame, but then later they will be, like, hmmmm, no, the music is so inspiring. Oh, gosh, scary!! The precursor artists for Mabel's generation are not leaving us anything time- capsule- ish. So, maybe, justtttt maybe, this whole cyclical thing will skip a gen. I'd love it if Mabel started to listen to 90s rock, but I fear for her musical enlightenment if all we can give them is T- Swift and One Direction. But my parents were probably saying the same about Nine Inch Nails, and that kid from Clueless had a point.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Lighten up!
At the end of my sixth grade year, we received our yearbooks and the cool thing to do was to get friends-- and even a few likable teachers-- to sign it. I loved my history teacher that year and asked her if she would write me a message. She agreed, and when she handed the book back to me, I was puzzled by the message: "To J, my most serious student in 6th grade. You'll do fine in 7th grade. Relax and stop worrying!" Wow, I thought, that's how she knows me? As the worrier girl? And then THAT idea made me worry more.
Yes, I remember that message word for word, despite that I haven't looked back at the scrawling in probably ten years or so (hmm, where ARE my middle school yearbooks, anyway?). I don't think I will ever forget those words because they made me see a piece of who I was, and am today. Over the years, I have debated whether being a "serious" person is good or bad. Mostly I've thought it bad, and that I should try to get over it and just, you know, be different. But at other moments in time, I've accepted my worrying nature and have even somewhat resigned myself to it. Is that good to do though? I still can't decide.
Besides the yearbook message, I used to hear lots of messages from people about my worrying, My mom would throw cliches on me, such as "Roll with the punches!" and "Lighten up!" Hmm. How do I DO that, I would wonder? How do I stop caring? How do I stop my mind from working like crazy? (Side note: I still don't know. If anyone has the answer, please write me.)
Starting around age 23, I have here and there sought therapy for my anxiety. I don't go anymore, but it did help me in bits and pieces. Some professionals like to suggest medication for worry, and while I'm certainly not above it, I like to think I can work on myself without it. Plus, I don't think I'm reliable enough to be expected to take something every day. I manage to get that done with my birth control pill and that's a miracle in itself (overshare, I know). But one therapist said to me, "Why wouldn't you take medicine? If you had Diabetes, you'd take insulin." I think shrinks love that Diabetes analogy. And there's probably something to it. But for some reason (probably because I am, yes, a huge worrier), I've been sort of afraid of "altering" myself with meds. And so I've looked to other things, and, sadly, the girl who always obsessed over her academics has failed in this pursuit... miserably.
I don't sleep well... like, at all. Every night, I'm plagued with multiple wake- ups and vivid dreams that range from nightmares to just entirely weird (but often scary) scenarios. I'm tired a lot because of it, and that doesn't do a lot for the anxiety. I ruminate a lot. I chew on things like a cow would, mashing worries around and around my brain. I will take a thought and dissect every centimeter of its body, like we used to do to those frogs in science class. Days will go by and I'll still be on the same worry. "How will I ever get that project done?" "Who will be first in my family to get a life- ending illness?" "What if Mabel gets XYZ disease?"
And that's where "lighten up" has never been needed more: in my parenting department. I've blogged before about the worry of motherhood, and about how it's a whole new level of anxiety. I always make this assumption that every other parent out there handles things better than I do, that I suck at being able to weed out actual threats from abstract concerns. "Reasons" to worry are everywhere I turn: when I log onto the "What to Expect" website and the top button bar bears " Autism in Toddlers" and "Dangerous Household Chemicals" as its suggestions for what people at my stage of parenting might like; when I see an autistic kid at school struggle; when I hear people talk about speech and language delays at work; when I go on Facebook and see one of those posts to please donate to a charity for this 18- month old with Neuroblastoma. I always assume everyone else has the ability to look past this frightening stuff.
But it turns out I've been wrong. While I know I could win a blue ribbon in the art of worrying, I found out this week that lots of parents obsess over things. My 60- year- old coworker told me she prays every night that her two grandsons won't be autistic. My friend mentioned to me casually that she won't let anyone else drive her kid around in a car. And another friend expressed that she fears Sudden Infant Death Syndrome even though her child is 2. And I could go on with a few more.
I know I'd be a fool to think this parenting worry ever ends; I know the variety of worries just changes. So how do we get relief? How do we lighten up? How do we be more present? How do we not sweat the small stuff, as pop culture would exhort us to do through those cheesy books? How do we find peace without having to take meds or slug back a bottle of wine a night? Some days, I feel like I can't take any more obsessing-- that my mind is going to explode. Researching the heck out of crap (like I did when breastfeeding wasn't working out for me) sometimes gives me solace. (If you research enough, you can always find something online that will tell you that you are doing things right, even if you feel deep- down like you are not). But researching can make things worse, too, and is THAT the only way to lighten up-- to read the shiz out of something to the point you've tired yourself of the topic? That doesn't sound very light and airy to me.
My coworker recently posted on Facebook an article about being more mindful with your kids-- not being more careful or overbearing, but being present in every moment. Watching how they maneuver a toy. Observing how great it is to be outside with them in the backyard. Not checking text or email, and just sitting with your child. I know I need to be better with that practice, but I wonder if that's how we lighten up-- by pulling back and seeing how something goofy makes Mabel laugh, and how truly awesome it is that she's laughing. That J and I created a human, and she has a personality, and it sparkles. In my last entry, I talked about finding fun, and experiencing the same fun that Mabel does. maybe I need to do that, but even more mindfully. Ignore everything else and just be.
I don't know what the key is to following Ms. Chambers' advice-- to relax and stop worrying. I am who I am, yes, and a lot of my worry- capacity is genetic and hard- wired, but I don't want to start making excuses for myself. It can't possibly be fulfilling enough to say, "I'm just a classic worrier!" and give up on finding peace. I know there's beauty all around, even if I don't have the time to do a 30- minute meditation every day. Maybe some deep breaths and a few good laughs with the little girl will do a body good. Maybe then I will have "lightened."
Yes, I remember that message word for word, despite that I haven't looked back at the scrawling in probably ten years or so (hmm, where ARE my middle school yearbooks, anyway?). I don't think I will ever forget those words because they made me see a piece of who I was, and am today. Over the years, I have debated whether being a "serious" person is good or bad. Mostly I've thought it bad, and that I should try to get over it and just, you know, be different. But at other moments in time, I've accepted my worrying nature and have even somewhat resigned myself to it. Is that good to do though? I still can't decide.
Besides the yearbook message, I used to hear lots of messages from people about my worrying, My mom would throw cliches on me, such as "Roll with the punches!" and "Lighten up!" Hmm. How do I DO that, I would wonder? How do I stop caring? How do I stop my mind from working like crazy? (Side note: I still don't know. If anyone has the answer, please write me.)
Starting around age 23, I have here and there sought therapy for my anxiety. I don't go anymore, but it did help me in bits and pieces. Some professionals like to suggest medication for worry, and while I'm certainly not above it, I like to think I can work on myself without it. Plus, I don't think I'm reliable enough to be expected to take something every day. I manage to get that done with my birth control pill and that's a miracle in itself (overshare, I know). But one therapist said to me, "Why wouldn't you take medicine? If you had Diabetes, you'd take insulin." I think shrinks love that Diabetes analogy. And there's probably something to it. But for some reason (probably because I am, yes, a huge worrier), I've been sort of afraid of "altering" myself with meds. And so I've looked to other things, and, sadly, the girl who always obsessed over her academics has failed in this pursuit... miserably.
I don't sleep well... like, at all. Every night, I'm plagued with multiple wake- ups and vivid dreams that range from nightmares to just entirely weird (but often scary) scenarios. I'm tired a lot because of it, and that doesn't do a lot for the anxiety. I ruminate a lot. I chew on things like a cow would, mashing worries around and around my brain. I will take a thought and dissect every centimeter of its body, like we used to do to those frogs in science class. Days will go by and I'll still be on the same worry. "How will I ever get that project done?" "Who will be first in my family to get a life- ending illness?" "What if Mabel gets XYZ disease?"
And that's where "lighten up" has never been needed more: in my parenting department. I've blogged before about the worry of motherhood, and about how it's a whole new level of anxiety. I always make this assumption that every other parent out there handles things better than I do, that I suck at being able to weed out actual threats from abstract concerns. "Reasons" to worry are everywhere I turn: when I log onto the "What to Expect" website and the top button bar bears " Autism in Toddlers" and "Dangerous Household Chemicals" as its suggestions for what people at my stage of parenting might like; when I see an autistic kid at school struggle; when I hear people talk about speech and language delays at work; when I go on Facebook and see one of those posts to please donate to a charity for this 18- month old with Neuroblastoma. I always assume everyone else has the ability to look past this frightening stuff.
But it turns out I've been wrong. While I know I could win a blue ribbon in the art of worrying, I found out this week that lots of parents obsess over things. My 60- year- old coworker told me she prays every night that her two grandsons won't be autistic. My friend mentioned to me casually that she won't let anyone else drive her kid around in a car. And another friend expressed that she fears Sudden Infant Death Syndrome even though her child is 2. And I could go on with a few more.
I know I'd be a fool to think this parenting worry ever ends; I know the variety of worries just changes. So how do we get relief? How do we lighten up? How do we be more present? How do we not sweat the small stuff, as pop culture would exhort us to do through those cheesy books? How do we find peace without having to take meds or slug back a bottle of wine a night? Some days, I feel like I can't take any more obsessing-- that my mind is going to explode. Researching the heck out of crap (like I did when breastfeeding wasn't working out for me) sometimes gives me solace. (If you research enough, you can always find something online that will tell you that you are doing things right, even if you feel deep- down like you are not). But researching can make things worse, too, and is THAT the only way to lighten up-- to read the shiz out of something to the point you've tired yourself of the topic? That doesn't sound very light and airy to me.
My coworker recently posted on Facebook an article about being more mindful with your kids-- not being more careful or overbearing, but being present in every moment. Watching how they maneuver a toy. Observing how great it is to be outside with them in the backyard. Not checking text or email, and just sitting with your child. I know I need to be better with that practice, but I wonder if that's how we lighten up-- by pulling back and seeing how something goofy makes Mabel laugh, and how truly awesome it is that she's laughing. That J and I created a human, and she has a personality, and it sparkles. In my last entry, I talked about finding fun, and experiencing the same fun that Mabel does. maybe I need to do that, but even more mindfully. Ignore everything else and just be.
I don't know what the key is to following Ms. Chambers' advice-- to relax and stop worrying. I am who I am, yes, and a lot of my worry- capacity is genetic and hard- wired, but I don't want to start making excuses for myself. It can't possibly be fulfilling enough to say, "I'm just a classic worrier!" and give up on finding peace. I know there's beauty all around, even if I don't have the time to do a 30- minute meditation every day. Maybe some deep breaths and a few good laughs with the little girl will do a body good. Maybe then I will have "lightened."
Monday, March 11, 2013
Finding Fun
This is a blog entry that I will have to title when I am done, because I haven't even decided yet where it is going to go. I have some ideas I want to write about, but I have no plan. This sort of fly- by- the- seat- of- my- pants writing is counter to everything I teach my students about the writing process, but the beauty of a blog is I get to defy all those rules. So we will see.
But what's been on my mind is how much Mabel is changing-- and fast. She's been taking unassisted steps for a while, but last Friday, on our snow day, she became an official walker, unsteadily traveling around the house on only two limbs for pretty much the entire day. It was crazy-- it happened overnight. People told me her walking might go that way, but since she had been taking steps-- and more and more each time she would try-- I figured her walking would be a more progressive thing. Nope- she decided Friday she wanted to do it, and she did.
J and I were lucky because we were stuck home in the blizzard (which at first was unpleasant), so we got to see Mabel make this change. The best part about her walking has been how happy she is doing it. Yesterday, she and I spent a good solid 20 minutes doing possibly the cutest thing I have ever seen her engage in. She would start at the corner wall between the little hallway and living room, and would walk fast to me, full steam ahead, with an ear- to- ear grin, sometimes laughing a little too. Then, when she was almost to me, she would leap into my arms, and I'd grab her and she'd laugh hysterically. She'd then get right up, look back at me for an OK, and walk back to the wall, and then repeat the whole thing-- over and over and over. Despite its repetitive nature, I didn't mind the activity at all; in fact, I sort of adored it. Mabel was so proud of herself, and she was having FUN. To see your child have fun may be the coolest and most relaxing thing in the world. With all the bull- shiz of our world, and all the craptastic stuff we have to go through, to get to see a few minutes of unadulterated, over- the- moon joy is a relief. I want Mabel to experience joy like that all the time. I don't want her to be sad, and I want her to giggle all the time about stuff that might otherwise seem mundane. I know that's a pipe dream, because Mabel is going to face all sorts of challenges and sadnesses, and I hope I can handle it, because sometimes I doubt that I can. I literally shake when I think about her being in pain. It is a very visceral, very basic, instinctual reaction that I'm sure all parents have, but it scares the pants off me.
Mabel is, in fact, finding humor and enjoyment in lots of things as of late, and seeing her make these discoveries has made the fussiness and overtiredness and anything else annoying much less so. She knows that when you pick up a hairbrush, you put it to your head and brush your locks. Mabel tries, and she cracks up while doing it. I love it! She has a new table and chair set, and gets very excited to get into the chair, pounding on it until I help her up. She loves her push toys, smiling away when she comes into a room where J is or I am, seeming to express, "Hey- look what I'm doing!" And she has started referring to anything appealing as "ba ba"-- which started as her word for her literal bottle-- but now lots of things are ba ba-- any Sippy, any food she wants, any toy she wants to play with. Ba ba seems to be "cool thing I must have." I love that Mabel is discovering lots of things that make her light up-- that she is finding joy in tons of simple stuff, because that simple stuff is actually awesome to her.
It's probably because I teach high school, but I am utterly sensitive to the difficulties, tough emotions, bullying, stress, and fear that teenagers feel; no longer are they marveling at a hairbrush or a chair. They are faced with more rough stuff than we ever faced in high school, and I hate thinking about my friends' kids and my own daughter having to be in that place someday. I see things go on at work that terrify me when I think of Mabel and whether J and I will do a good job in giving her a skill set to deal with difficult things. For now, I am going to try to sit back and enjoy the giggles and grins and little steps and toy- playing. She is growing WAY more quickly than I really want her to, and I don't want to miss anything.
But what's been on my mind is how much Mabel is changing-- and fast. She's been taking unassisted steps for a while, but last Friday, on our snow day, she became an official walker, unsteadily traveling around the house on only two limbs for pretty much the entire day. It was crazy-- it happened overnight. People told me her walking might go that way, but since she had been taking steps-- and more and more each time she would try-- I figured her walking would be a more progressive thing. Nope- she decided Friday she wanted to do it, and she did.
J and I were lucky because we were stuck home in the blizzard (which at first was unpleasant), so we got to see Mabel make this change. The best part about her walking has been how happy she is doing it. Yesterday, she and I spent a good solid 20 minutes doing possibly the cutest thing I have ever seen her engage in. She would start at the corner wall between the little hallway and living room, and would walk fast to me, full steam ahead, with an ear- to- ear grin, sometimes laughing a little too. Then, when she was almost to me, she would leap into my arms, and I'd grab her and she'd laugh hysterically. She'd then get right up, look back at me for an OK, and walk back to the wall, and then repeat the whole thing-- over and over and over. Despite its repetitive nature, I didn't mind the activity at all; in fact, I sort of adored it. Mabel was so proud of herself, and she was having FUN. To see your child have fun may be the coolest and most relaxing thing in the world. With all the bull- shiz of our world, and all the craptastic stuff we have to go through, to get to see a few minutes of unadulterated, over- the- moon joy is a relief. I want Mabel to experience joy like that all the time. I don't want her to be sad, and I want her to giggle all the time about stuff that might otherwise seem mundane. I know that's a pipe dream, because Mabel is going to face all sorts of challenges and sadnesses, and I hope I can handle it, because sometimes I doubt that I can. I literally shake when I think about her being in pain. It is a very visceral, very basic, instinctual reaction that I'm sure all parents have, but it scares the pants off me.
Mabel is, in fact, finding humor and enjoyment in lots of things as of late, and seeing her make these discoveries has made the fussiness and overtiredness and anything else annoying much less so. She knows that when you pick up a hairbrush, you put it to your head and brush your locks. Mabel tries, and she cracks up while doing it. I love it! She has a new table and chair set, and gets very excited to get into the chair, pounding on it until I help her up. She loves her push toys, smiling away when she comes into a room where J is or I am, seeming to express, "Hey- look what I'm doing!" And she has started referring to anything appealing as "ba ba"-- which started as her word for her literal bottle-- but now lots of things are ba ba-- any Sippy, any food she wants, any toy she wants to play with. Ba ba seems to be "cool thing I must have." I love that Mabel is discovering lots of things that make her light up-- that she is finding joy in tons of simple stuff, because that simple stuff is actually awesome to her.
It's probably because I teach high school, but I am utterly sensitive to the difficulties, tough emotions, bullying, stress, and fear that teenagers feel; no longer are they marveling at a hairbrush or a chair. They are faced with more rough stuff than we ever faced in high school, and I hate thinking about my friends' kids and my own daughter having to be in that place someday. I see things go on at work that terrify me when I think of Mabel and whether J and I will do a good job in giving her a skill set to deal with difficult things. For now, I am going to try to sit back and enjoy the giggles and grins and little steps and toy- playing. She is growing WAY more quickly than I really want her to, and I don't want to miss anything.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Fiesta
We had Mabel's birthday party this weekend, which was the first party we have ever hosted at our house. I hate to admit this over a 1- year- old's birthday, but I was kind of a nervous wreck. I always feel like I am going to majorly eff up when I am in charge of something like this. I feel like some people are born with this incredible hosting gene-- they seem to inherently know what to serve, how much to make, and exactly what decor to put up and where. Oh, and how to make those cool Fondant cakes. They don't leave out details, and their parties look effortless. While I'm sort of OCD when it comes to planning stuff, from vacations to parties (I made about six different lists for this party), I am definitely not one of those effortless- party- planner types. I had to think real hard about what we would need and make a bazillion trips to the store.
I really wanted the party to be at the house as a personal preference. I have nothing against parties at halls, but for my nervous- nellie self, I like smaller parties. We decided that since the weather wouldn't allow for going outdoors, we would have to trim our initial guest list substantially, which at first I thought stunk because it meant we couldn't invite many friends. J and I decided we would invite two friends each, with their significant others/ kids, of course: I had my bestie/ Mabel's godmother, and my other really close friend E. J had B and S come up from CT. Other than that, it was all family. I thought it would make me a little sad not to have other friends of ours come over and celebrate, but a little ways into the day, I saw we had the perfect number of people for a 1- year- old to have at her party, and since a lot of my girlfriends are single, they probably would have been bored stiff having to watch a 1- year- old eat cake and open puzzles.
Knowing we would have to massively clean our hellstorm of a house the morning of the fiesta, I didn't want to leave a ton of cooking to be done. We ordered two party pizzas and a 3- foot long sub from a local grocery. I made meatballs and a mac n cheese dish and a salad. My mom also made a salad and brought the cake and cupcakes. After we all housed cheese and crackers and a bunch of other apps, the main stuff went out, and I laughed at how badly I had misjudged. I was convinced it would not be enough food; meanwhile, we didn't even touch the second party pizza, and not even half the sub was consumed. Again, I lack that planning gene that tells you that you don't also have to do meatballs and mac n cheese. People just want to eat food and it's not all that important to have a ginormous variety.
By the time the cake part came along, Mabel was going on an afternoon of non- napping. There was no way this kid was gonna go down for a slumber upstairs with her party going on downstairs. Miraculously enough, she did awesomely-- the cake part was very cute, as it is at most babies' parties. To me, this marked the conclusion of the itinerary, and peeps could just sit around and continue to chow and talk and drink and whatever. Apparently, not everyone agreed. A family member was in the kitchen complaining that I wasn't having Mabel open her gifts in front of everyone, because "it [was] a birthday party after all." Ummm, really? Do YOU want to sit there and watch Mabel (me) open up outfit after outfit, toy after toy, and forcefully "oo" and "ah" at it all? I have learned that in family crap, you have to keep the peace. And so on we went to open the presents. Mabel wanted nothing to do with such a task-- who can blame her? SHE IS ONE. SHE DOES NOT KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON. She preferred to play with bags and bits of tissue paper and other toys that were already sitting nearby, and I let her. I flew through the opening (perhaps too briskly), but I have been at those parties where the gift- opening is an absolute effing eternity, and since this party had gone real well up to that point, I didn't want to slow it down with the ridiculousness of a 1- year- old ripping off wrapping paper bit by bit.
As Shakespeare said, all's well that ends well, and that's how this party went. No complaints. Mabel was great, our guests were great, and the food ended up being, I think, okay too. Lessons learned for you, or for me:
1. You don't need the amount of food you think you do, and people will bring more than you think. I didn't want to give anyone except my mom a job to do (there's a comfort in asking your own mom, but I hate for anyone else to be put- upon), yet my BIL brought baked brie and crackers and grapes, and my MIL brought a whole tray of apps. We didn't even NEED the apps J and I bought.
2. Always serve alcohol. Not everyone will drink, but many will, and a few beers makes gift- opening all the more palatable. I say if you have a tight budget, have fewer people so you can have alcohol. This is my same thought on drinks at weddings; you should always have at least one hour of open bar for folks, and if you can't, have fewer people.
3. You don't need to open the gifts. But if you do, don't have the baby do it. I am not being all "I did it perfectly" here. I almost DID have Mabel open them with me, but then saw it would have taken a century. People are standing around. They don't want that.
4. Even if you're not an emo person, you will get emo watching your baby blow out her candle and eat her cake. It's weird but true. I didn't feel sad or recognize that Mabel's first b-day party was monumental until everyone was gathered around singing to her. It was precious. And she was so happy. Melt.
5. No matter what you do for a party, it will be fun. I agonized over the Dr. Seuss theme, searching on Etsy for the perfect personalized cupcake toppers and making a couple of banners using Dr. Seuss letters. I got themed balloons and a themed cake, and we set up Dr. S. books and stuffed animals on the window sill. We had red and white napkins, and a decorative Dr. Seuss hat. It sounds cliched, but in the end, none of it mattered. Mabel certainly didn't know any better, and everyone there would have had fun with food, drink, and a few laughs. Do what makes you happy for the party, but keep in mind the baby has not a clue. :)
I really wanted the party to be at the house as a personal preference. I have nothing against parties at halls, but for my nervous- nellie self, I like smaller parties. We decided that since the weather wouldn't allow for going outdoors, we would have to trim our initial guest list substantially, which at first I thought stunk because it meant we couldn't invite many friends. J and I decided we would invite two friends each, with their significant others/ kids, of course: I had my bestie/ Mabel's godmother, and my other really close friend E. J had B and S come up from CT. Other than that, it was all family. I thought it would make me a little sad not to have other friends of ours come over and celebrate, but a little ways into the day, I saw we had the perfect number of people for a 1- year- old to have at her party, and since a lot of my girlfriends are single, they probably would have been bored stiff having to watch a 1- year- old eat cake and open puzzles.
Knowing we would have to massively clean our hellstorm of a house the morning of the fiesta, I didn't want to leave a ton of cooking to be done. We ordered two party pizzas and a 3- foot long sub from a local grocery. I made meatballs and a mac n cheese dish and a salad. My mom also made a salad and brought the cake and cupcakes. After we all housed cheese and crackers and a bunch of other apps, the main stuff went out, and I laughed at how badly I had misjudged. I was convinced it would not be enough food; meanwhile, we didn't even touch the second party pizza, and not even half the sub was consumed. Again, I lack that planning gene that tells you that you don't also have to do meatballs and mac n cheese. People just want to eat food and it's not all that important to have a ginormous variety.
By the time the cake part came along, Mabel was going on an afternoon of non- napping. There was no way this kid was gonna go down for a slumber upstairs with her party going on downstairs. Miraculously enough, she did awesomely-- the cake part was very cute, as it is at most babies' parties. To me, this marked the conclusion of the itinerary, and peeps could just sit around and continue to chow and talk and drink and whatever. Apparently, not everyone agreed. A family member was in the kitchen complaining that I wasn't having Mabel open her gifts in front of everyone, because "it [was] a birthday party after all." Ummm, really? Do YOU want to sit there and watch Mabel (me) open up outfit after outfit, toy after toy, and forcefully "oo" and "ah" at it all? I have learned that in family crap, you have to keep the peace. And so on we went to open the presents. Mabel wanted nothing to do with such a task-- who can blame her? SHE IS ONE. SHE DOES NOT KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON. She preferred to play with bags and bits of tissue paper and other toys that were already sitting nearby, and I let her. I flew through the opening (perhaps too briskly), but I have been at those parties where the gift- opening is an absolute effing eternity, and since this party had gone real well up to that point, I didn't want to slow it down with the ridiculousness of a 1- year- old ripping off wrapping paper bit by bit.
As Shakespeare said, all's well that ends well, and that's how this party went. No complaints. Mabel was great, our guests were great, and the food ended up being, I think, okay too. Lessons learned for you, or for me:
1. You don't need the amount of food you think you do, and people will bring more than you think. I didn't want to give anyone except my mom a job to do (there's a comfort in asking your own mom, but I hate for anyone else to be put- upon), yet my BIL brought baked brie and crackers and grapes, and my MIL brought a whole tray of apps. We didn't even NEED the apps J and I bought.
2. Always serve alcohol. Not everyone will drink, but many will, and a few beers makes gift- opening all the more palatable. I say if you have a tight budget, have fewer people so you can have alcohol. This is my same thought on drinks at weddings; you should always have at least one hour of open bar for folks, and if you can't, have fewer people.
3. You don't need to open the gifts. But if you do, don't have the baby do it. I am not being all "I did it perfectly" here. I almost DID have Mabel open them with me, but then saw it would have taken a century. People are standing around. They don't want that.
4. Even if you're not an emo person, you will get emo watching your baby blow out her candle and eat her cake. It's weird but true. I didn't feel sad or recognize that Mabel's first b-day party was monumental until everyone was gathered around singing to her. It was precious. And she was so happy. Melt.
5. No matter what you do for a party, it will be fun. I agonized over the Dr. Seuss theme, searching on Etsy for the perfect personalized cupcake toppers and making a couple of banners using Dr. Seuss letters. I got themed balloons and a themed cake, and we set up Dr. S. books and stuffed animals on the window sill. We had red and white napkins, and a decorative Dr. Seuss hat. It sounds cliched, but in the end, none of it mattered. Mabel certainly didn't know any better, and everyone there would have had fun with food, drink, and a few laughs. Do what makes you happy for the party, but keep in mind the baby has not a clue. :)
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