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.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
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. :)
Thursday, February 28, 2013
More Observations from Vacation
I had more I wanted to post about my vacation week, but the Oscars were beckoning. Glad I watched, because I got to see one of my Boston faves, Ben Affleck, receive the award for Argo as Best Picture (ok, so I didn't watch THAT part until the next day, because who the hell can stay up late enough for the big awards??). J and I decided to watch Argo Monday night; I loved it, but we had to keep rewinding and rewatching parts when I would fall asleep. I have a seriously hard time making it up past like 8:30 nowadays.... Wahhhh! I kept fighting the shutting of the eyes, and I would lie to J when he would ask if I was awake. Eventually, I caved to admitting I was beat and needed to rewind a bunch of sections.
So back to vacation... Some stuff:
1. I like to think that I don't care anymore about getting a tan, but I sort of do. I can't be pleased. I'm pissed at myself if I don't drench my body in sunscreen and if I end up with even a remote burn. I'm super- careful about my face because I am already getting crow's feet and other garbagey, old- lady features on my mug-- including these nasty- ass sunspots that look like I just swept a chimney. So I go nuts with SPF 30, and consequently am whining that I don't have a Caribbean glow. By the fourth day of the trip, I went down to SPF 15. I got some color that way. I like to think I don't care at all anymore about getting a glow, but I feel I look a little thinner with some color, and my teeth look whiter. So, yes, very vainly speaking, I want to have my cake and eat it too-- tan without having to risk the danger of it. I am kind of tan, and now I'm paranoid about a few freckles. Must find a dermie to check them out.
2. I recommend doing any vacation you can all- inclusively. Worth every penny. Walked right up to any resort- owned bar and got as much as we wanted and didn't have to grouse or feel bad if we didn't finish anything. It was so much more relaxing and convenient not to have to traipse around with cash in our pockets ("service fee" AKA tip was already included in package). The downside is I think I drank about 4 Pina Coladas and 5 Balashi Chill beers per day "because I could." So maybe all- inclusive is bad for the waist- line but it is awesome for the wallet and for laziness.
3. I am now afraid of airplanes and this fear didn't even slightly start until 2002. I flew the friendly skies all the time as a kid. My parents had us in airplanes at least once a year-- sometimes twice. And it's a cliche, but I was never scared because I was an invincible kid who was going on trips within the comfortable security of my family unit. Surely my parents would never expose me to danger, right? I flew fearlessly right up through Sept 11, and even after that I had only minor misgivings about hopping aboard a 757. All through my twenties, and even into my 31st year, I was still all good-- even flying to Europe, with only the ocean below for several hours (my stomach just flipped while typing... erggg!) of the trip. Somehow, when I turned 32 and went to Puerto Rico with J, I was transformed into a little bit of a worry- wart on the airplane, but I had to fake confidence because J is a horrible flyer and needed comfort to know we should bother going. Now that we have Mabel, I am just like J, sadly: completely convinced there is no way a plane can stay up in the air for a number of hours; waiting for the one teeny glitch to happen that's gonna steer the plane face down, plummeting into the freezing cold ocean; and sweating at the first bit of turbulence or a strange sound. My reactions waned and reappeared a bunch of times on our four flights to get to and from Aruba: the flight from where we live to Phili was awful because it came first and it was short and we didn't reach a high altitude (hence turbulence). Once we got up high going from Phili to Aruba, I was golden. And landing doesn't scare me too much. But take- off, and really the first half hour or so (when, say, the gas tank malfunctions and fuel starts pouring out and the plane is toast) are almost insurmountable times of fear. "Please let us make it back for Mabel's first birthday... please!" No longer under the sheltering protection of my parents, I am a total wimp now when it comes to air travel. I'm not going to let the fear preclude my traveling, as I have to assume exposure to safe flights will eventually assuage my pains. And don't tell J-- because I still maintain a game face for him. (When the flight attendant somewhat brusquely told us, "Please make sure your safety belt is still securely fastened," J told me she didn't sound confident and something was obviously very wrong.) I know people who fly weekly for work-- maybe that's the kind of exposure therapy I need, but I think I would need some Xanax or like 5 wines to knock me out first. My mom always says that air travel is the safest kind and you are way more likely to get in a car accident; I see that point, but at least I have SOME level of control over my car. And people can survive car accidents sometimes, whereas if a plane goes down, there's only one result.
4. Yes, I can fit everything into a carry- on bag. When visiting the Caribbean, ladies, you do not need jeans. You do not need shoes. You need flip- flops, a few dresses to wear at night, and some bathing suits and cover- ups. You are not going to want to flat- iron your hair, so leave all those tools home. And you don't need five pairs of pajamas. When will I learn not to overpack? Also, I get irrationally mad when I overpack-- looking at the unworn clothing with contempt and disgust. Then it's like I have to try to wear as much stuff as possible so I didn't pack in vain. Mind games.
5. It really doesn't matter what you look like in a bathingsuit, and you'll never see these people again, but it's okay to still fret a little, because what if Bradley Cooper ends up on your beach? Now that I'm 34, I'd like to think I've made some peace with my body. I know there's lots I can change about it (no, not with plastic surgery-- with EXERCISE!), but there are things that are unchangeable unless I want to spend some serious money and I am not THAT vain. For instance, I have huge ears. I also have a large area above my boobs but below my neck-- what's that called- some fancy word that starts with a d and sounds French. I always feel when I wear something strapless like that area of skin is just so large. And I have to bleach my fore- arm hair every month because it is brown not blonde and I think that is just so nasty looking on women. But anyway, I guess to a certain point I have started to accept some stuff. Still, I always find myself in that pre- vacation rut when I try on bathingsuits-- "Man, I have a lot of side- boob spillage-- should have done those chest press exercises. And my thighs, ewww. And why is everything just loose looking?" Then I tell myself I am a 34- year- old woman, and these things are not worth worrying about and I need to have fun on the trip. Inevitably, I get to my destination and see some really heavy women in string bikinis and I feel way better (I know it's unhealthy to base one's self- image on a comparison to others, but let's be real and admit we all do this.). But THEN I see chicks with these amazing bods, and I feel like an old lame- ass in my straw- hat and SPF 30 with side- boob and a droopy body, and the whole stupid cycle starts back up. I think, though, that I need to submit to caring a little. Caring or being a little vain might be the only thing that will get my droopy ass to the gym any time soon.
So back to vacation... Some stuff:
1. I like to think that I don't care anymore about getting a tan, but I sort of do. I can't be pleased. I'm pissed at myself if I don't drench my body in sunscreen and if I end up with even a remote burn. I'm super- careful about my face because I am already getting crow's feet and other garbagey, old- lady features on my mug-- including these nasty- ass sunspots that look like I just swept a chimney. So I go nuts with SPF 30, and consequently am whining that I don't have a Caribbean glow. By the fourth day of the trip, I went down to SPF 15. I got some color that way. I like to think I don't care at all anymore about getting a glow, but I feel I look a little thinner with some color, and my teeth look whiter. So, yes, very vainly speaking, I want to have my cake and eat it too-- tan without having to risk the danger of it. I am kind of tan, and now I'm paranoid about a few freckles. Must find a dermie to check them out.
2. I recommend doing any vacation you can all- inclusively. Worth every penny. Walked right up to any resort- owned bar and got as much as we wanted and didn't have to grouse or feel bad if we didn't finish anything. It was so much more relaxing and convenient not to have to traipse around with cash in our pockets ("service fee" AKA tip was already included in package). The downside is I think I drank about 4 Pina Coladas and 5 Balashi Chill beers per day "because I could." So maybe all- inclusive is bad for the waist- line but it is awesome for the wallet and for laziness.
3. I am now afraid of airplanes and this fear didn't even slightly start until 2002. I flew the friendly skies all the time as a kid. My parents had us in airplanes at least once a year-- sometimes twice. And it's a cliche, but I was never scared because I was an invincible kid who was going on trips within the comfortable security of my family unit. Surely my parents would never expose me to danger, right? I flew fearlessly right up through Sept 11, and even after that I had only minor misgivings about hopping aboard a 757. All through my twenties, and even into my 31st year, I was still all good-- even flying to Europe, with only the ocean below for several hours (my stomach just flipped while typing... erggg!) of the trip. Somehow, when I turned 32 and went to Puerto Rico with J, I was transformed into a little bit of a worry- wart on the airplane, but I had to fake confidence because J is a horrible flyer and needed comfort to know we should bother going. Now that we have Mabel, I am just like J, sadly: completely convinced there is no way a plane can stay up in the air for a number of hours; waiting for the one teeny glitch to happen that's gonna steer the plane face down, plummeting into the freezing cold ocean; and sweating at the first bit of turbulence or a strange sound. My reactions waned and reappeared a bunch of times on our four flights to get to and from Aruba: the flight from where we live to Phili was awful because it came first and it was short and we didn't reach a high altitude (hence turbulence). Once we got up high going from Phili to Aruba, I was golden. And landing doesn't scare me too much. But take- off, and really the first half hour or so (when, say, the gas tank malfunctions and fuel starts pouring out and the plane is toast) are almost insurmountable times of fear. "Please let us make it back for Mabel's first birthday... please!" No longer under the sheltering protection of my parents, I am a total wimp now when it comes to air travel. I'm not going to let the fear preclude my traveling, as I have to assume exposure to safe flights will eventually assuage my pains. And don't tell J-- because I still maintain a game face for him. (When the flight attendant somewhat brusquely told us, "Please make sure your safety belt is still securely fastened," J told me she didn't sound confident and something was obviously very wrong.) I know people who fly weekly for work-- maybe that's the kind of exposure therapy I need, but I think I would need some Xanax or like 5 wines to knock me out first. My mom always says that air travel is the safest kind and you are way more likely to get in a car accident; I see that point, but at least I have SOME level of control over my car. And people can survive car accidents sometimes, whereas if a plane goes down, there's only one result.
4. Yes, I can fit everything into a carry- on bag. When visiting the Caribbean, ladies, you do not need jeans. You do not need shoes. You need flip- flops, a few dresses to wear at night, and some bathing suits and cover- ups. You are not going to want to flat- iron your hair, so leave all those tools home. And you don't need five pairs of pajamas. When will I learn not to overpack? Also, I get irrationally mad when I overpack-- looking at the unworn clothing with contempt and disgust. Then it's like I have to try to wear as much stuff as possible so I didn't pack in vain. Mind games.
5. It really doesn't matter what you look like in a bathingsuit, and you'll never see these people again, but it's okay to still fret a little, because what if Bradley Cooper ends up on your beach? Now that I'm 34, I'd like to think I've made some peace with my body. I know there's lots I can change about it (no, not with plastic surgery-- with EXERCISE!), but there are things that are unchangeable unless I want to spend some serious money and I am not THAT vain. For instance, I have huge ears. I also have a large area above my boobs but below my neck-- what's that called- some fancy word that starts with a d and sounds French. I always feel when I wear something strapless like that area of skin is just so large. And I have to bleach my fore- arm hair every month because it is brown not blonde and I think that is just so nasty looking on women. But anyway, I guess to a certain point I have started to accept some stuff. Still, I always find myself in that pre- vacation rut when I try on bathingsuits-- "Man, I have a lot of side- boob spillage-- should have done those chest press exercises. And my thighs, ewww. And why is everything just loose looking?" Then I tell myself I am a 34- year- old woman, and these things are not worth worrying about and I need to have fun on the trip. Inevitably, I get to my destination and see some really heavy women in string bikinis and I feel way better (I know it's unhealthy to base one's self- image on a comparison to others, but let's be real and admit we all do this.). But THEN I see chicks with these amazing bods, and I feel like an old lame- ass in my straw- hat and SPF 30 with side- boob and a droopy body, and the whole stupid cycle starts back up. I think, though, that I need to submit to caring a little. Caring or being a little vain might be the only thing that will get my droopy ass to the gym any time soon.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Parents' First Vacation
We just got back from nearly a week in Aruba. It was very, very, very awesome, though I'm sure one could surmise that it would be-- I mean, I've never heard anyone say the Caribbean was a bad time. We loved everything about our trip, which is particularly good because before we went I was having major anxiety and misgivings. We were leaving Mabel at home with my parents, and I didn't know how I'd do being a whole plane ride away and knowing I wouldn't see her for a week. I spent a solid couple weeks leading up to the trip in this weird kinda sad/ kinda butterflies- in- my- tummy state. When J and I booked the trip (a belated honeymoon since we got married in October but my job doesn't allow for an October vacation), Mabel was about 5 months old. "By the time Feb comes around, I will be TOTALLY fine with leaving her," I conjectured. Um, no. False. In fact, I felt WORSE than I did back then about the prospect, as Mabel has been "talking" and walking a little and has been all- around more expressive. I didn't want to miss a thing! I had nightmares about crying every day of the trip, and that we would come back and she would not know who we were, and even some real dark, morbid thoughts about something happening to J and me. A number of wonderful people in my life were there to support me and tell me it would be fine-- more than fine-- and that I needed to go on this trip. They were right! When J and I stepped off the plane, and a wave of that 86- degree heat ran over me, I felt a- ok. My mom and dad did a fabulous job sitting (they went to Story Hour and shopped and pretty much spoiled Mabel). By the time Thursday rolled around, J and I were excited to get home and see Mabel, as Friday would be her first birthday. We were fortunate to have all our travels go off without a hitch (which is pretty much wicked rare in the land of air travel), and we were home early Friday morning for the gal's big day. As I sat with her and watched her clap after receiving her Elmo cake from Nana, I thought about how lucky we were to have things go so smoothly, and as I looked back over the week, I remembered some observations I made and that I wanted to blog about. So, here they are.
1. I don't like airplane jargon: Why must the flight attendant say, 'We would like to remind you that we are beginning our initial descent, and so the beverage service is ending in the cabin." What is the "cabin"? Is it just the PLANE? Is it a part of the plane? Are they ending the bevvie service in only one PART of the plane, being the cabin, and, if so, what part is that? And the word "deplane"-- did someone just make that up? Can I say I am going to "decar" when I leave my Honda? And what's up with "snack sack" for the little bag you can buy that has, like, four peanuts and three grapes in it for seven bucks? Oh, and then there is "During flight please remain clear of the galleys." WTF are airplane galleys?
2. Sugar is a good test of how Americanized a place is: It's stupid to complain about a paradisey place, and it's not a complaint of substance, but my one gripe with Aruba is that it is too Americanized. I felt like every stretch of every bit of ground there was saying, "We cater to you, Americans! Please keep touristing here!" There was a Starbucks or a Taco Bell or a Dunkin' Donuts on every corner. They accepted American money which was convenient and easy, and everyone spoke English and I swear pizza and fries were served everywhere. While these conveniences make a visit more comfortable and simple, they also sort of make you feel like you never left the USA. I kept thinking I was in Florida, not 17 miles from Venezuela. One morning at breakfast, I looked over to that little sugar container thing, and there they were: Splenda, Equal, and Sweet 'n Low. Shouldn't they have, say, "Bon Bini Sweet" or something? Lots of folks on the island talked about Papiamento being a widely spoken Aruban language, which culls together bits of Spanish, Dutch, and even English, yet I didn't see many traces of said Papiamento. The most unAmericany Caribbean place I have visited was the gorgeous Rincon, Puerto Rico, and they didn't have Splenda or Equal there. In fact, almost everything was in Spanish. I think that if you can easily find American sugar substitutes at most of the island's eateries, you are not going to find a lot of culture. It's going to be all about Americans.
3. The previous entry does not indicate I am exotic or worldly: Let it be a caveat that while I like being tossed into a new culture, I am not sophisticated. I can't speak Papiamento, and my college and high school Spanglish leaves a lot to be desired. My wanting not to find Splenda on the table has more to do with a selfish longing to feel like I am reeeeeally away from home, and so that I can FEEL traveled and non- provincial (struggling trying to think of a good synonym right now for non- provincial. I already used worldly and cultured, and I did promise at the outset of this blog that I wouldn't edit, let alone obsess, over stupid shiz).
4. A vacation sans baby is incredibly different from one with a baby: Yeah, I know you're probably thinking, "Well, duh! Doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that." But we saw first- hand this very disparity. Those parents had to bring their kids in to nap, and they had to chase them around and get them juice and stuff. They had to go to dinner early. And on the plane, the parents seemed quite stressed because the babies and toddlers (we had a few on each flight) cried a lot. We met a couple from Johnston, RI on a boat one day, and they had their 13- month- old son with them. The mom said he hated the sand and the heat, and he had gotten sick while there. I give the parents a weird credit, though, for bringing their kids abroad and to a beach island. I think it takes balls-- balls that J and I don't have right now. The thought of the the tears on the plane-- possibly insatiable ones-- coupled with the idea of no relaxation is enough to make me feel nervous right NOW despite the fact that I am comfortably recumbent in bed while typing. But I like cool, "eff it" type parents like that. I like that they still went to Aruba. Even though I wouldn't do it myself with a one- year- old, I dug that other people did.
I have some more observations, but you (which really may just be me later on...) will start to get bored, and I want to see who wins all these Oscars. I already like Seth McFarlane as a host. He is wildly inappropriate and just did a Cabaret style song and dance to a tune called, "We've Seen Your Boobs."
1. I don't like airplane jargon: Why must the flight attendant say, 'We would like to remind you that we are beginning our initial descent, and so the beverage service is ending in the cabin." What is the "cabin"? Is it just the PLANE? Is it a part of the plane? Are they ending the bevvie service in only one PART of the plane, being the cabin, and, if so, what part is that? And the word "deplane"-- did someone just make that up? Can I say I am going to "decar" when I leave my Honda? And what's up with "snack sack" for the little bag you can buy that has, like, four peanuts and three grapes in it for seven bucks? Oh, and then there is "During flight please remain clear of the galleys." WTF are airplane galleys?
2. Sugar is a good test of how Americanized a place is: It's stupid to complain about a paradisey place, and it's not a complaint of substance, but my one gripe with Aruba is that it is too Americanized. I felt like every stretch of every bit of ground there was saying, "We cater to you, Americans! Please keep touristing here!" There was a Starbucks or a Taco Bell or a Dunkin' Donuts on every corner. They accepted American money which was convenient and easy, and everyone spoke English and I swear pizza and fries were served everywhere. While these conveniences make a visit more comfortable and simple, they also sort of make you feel like you never left the USA. I kept thinking I was in Florida, not 17 miles from Venezuela. One morning at breakfast, I looked over to that little sugar container thing, and there they were: Splenda, Equal, and Sweet 'n Low. Shouldn't they have, say, "Bon Bini Sweet" or something? Lots of folks on the island talked about Papiamento being a widely spoken Aruban language, which culls together bits of Spanish, Dutch, and even English, yet I didn't see many traces of said Papiamento. The most unAmericany Caribbean place I have visited was the gorgeous Rincon, Puerto Rico, and they didn't have Splenda or Equal there. In fact, almost everything was in Spanish. I think that if you can easily find American sugar substitutes at most of the island's eateries, you are not going to find a lot of culture. It's going to be all about Americans.
3. The previous entry does not indicate I am exotic or worldly: Let it be a caveat that while I like being tossed into a new culture, I am not sophisticated. I can't speak Papiamento, and my college and high school Spanglish leaves a lot to be desired. My wanting not to find Splenda on the table has more to do with a selfish longing to feel like I am reeeeeally away from home, and so that I can FEEL traveled and non- provincial (struggling trying to think of a good synonym right now for non- provincial. I already used worldly and cultured, and I did promise at the outset of this blog that I wouldn't edit, let alone obsess, over stupid shiz).
4. A vacation sans baby is incredibly different from one with a baby: Yeah, I know you're probably thinking, "Well, duh! Doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that." But we saw first- hand this very disparity. Those parents had to bring their kids in to nap, and they had to chase them around and get them juice and stuff. They had to go to dinner early. And on the plane, the parents seemed quite stressed because the babies and toddlers (we had a few on each flight) cried a lot. We met a couple from Johnston, RI on a boat one day, and they had their 13- month- old son with them. The mom said he hated the sand and the heat, and he had gotten sick while there. I give the parents a weird credit, though, for bringing their kids abroad and to a beach island. I think it takes balls-- balls that J and I don't have right now. The thought of the the tears on the plane-- possibly insatiable ones-- coupled with the idea of no relaxation is enough to make me feel nervous right NOW despite the fact that I am comfortably recumbent in bed while typing. But I like cool, "eff it" type parents like that. I like that they still went to Aruba. Even though I wouldn't do it myself with a one- year- old, I dug that other people did.
I have some more observations, but you (which really may just be me later on...) will start to get bored, and I want to see who wins all these Oscars. I already like Seth McFarlane as a host. He is wildly inappropriate and just did a Cabaret style song and dance to a tune called, "We've Seen Your Boobs."
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Baby's First Blizzard
I don't normally blog again after only a couple days, but the blizzard has prompted me to. I know I will want to be able to look back on the details of the storm. Mabel experienced her first hurricane in October, and now she's lucky enough to witness quite a snowstorm before she is even 1. This storm is unprecedented in the lives of many-- even for me, as I was still 10 months away from joining the world when the infamous Blizzard of '78 hit.
There's a travel ban on, meaning only emergency vehicles may be on the road, and otherwise driving is punishable by a year in prison, which cracks me up. Winds are 75- 85 MPH on the Cape, and around here they are 50- 60. At this moment, 413,000 homes are without power, and restoring it will mean plowing first to reach the lines. Being without heat must be incredibly tough, especially with babies and kids. Nstar has called in reinforcement crews from Western Mass; they say they are working hard to expedite the process of power restoration, but the snow has to stop first. Snow is still coming down at a decent clip-- going on about 24 hours now. I'd say we have a little over 2 feet of snow, but it's hard to tell.
J went out with the snow blower last night, but you can't even tell now. We decided to wait until the snow is completely done falling before going back out to blow and shovel. Ought to be quite a project.
I keep thinking about how, being Feb 9, if this were last year, I would have been a little antsy since I was due to have the baby on Feb 15. The news has already presented stories about women being taken via ambulance to have their babies. How mightily stressful! Fun to think that not even a year later from that due date, we are watching the snow come down with our crazy, busy, curious, cute little toddler. Hoping she likes taking a few pounces right down in that packed powder. I will attempt to show her the methodology behind snow angels, but knowing Mabel, she will want to just sit and chow on the snow. :)
There's a travel ban on, meaning only emergency vehicles may be on the road, and otherwise driving is punishable by a year in prison, which cracks me up. Winds are 75- 85 MPH on the Cape, and around here they are 50- 60. At this moment, 413,000 homes are without power, and restoring it will mean plowing first to reach the lines. Being without heat must be incredibly tough, especially with babies and kids. Nstar has called in reinforcement crews from Western Mass; they say they are working hard to expedite the process of power restoration, but the snow has to stop first. Snow is still coming down at a decent clip-- going on about 24 hours now. I'd say we have a little over 2 feet of snow, but it's hard to tell.
J went out with the snow blower last night, but you can't even tell now. We decided to wait until the snow is completely done falling before going back out to blow and shovel. Ought to be quite a project.
I keep thinking about how, being Feb 9, if this were last year, I would have been a little antsy since I was due to have the baby on Feb 15. The news has already presented stories about women being taken via ambulance to have their babies. How mightily stressful! Fun to think that not even a year later from that due date, we are watching the snow come down with our crazy, busy, curious, cute little toddler. Hoping she likes taking a few pounces right down in that packed powder. I will attempt to show her the methodology behind snow angels, but knowing Mabel, she will want to just sit and chow on the snow. :)
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