I hope you and yours are enjoying a very Merry Christmas, or at least, rejoicing in a day off work. I am sending my best wishes for a wonderful celebration with family and friends, and for a New Year full of blessings. But I did not send any holiday cards.
It’s a tradition as sacred as pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving (okay, bad example, we didn’t do that either this year, but only because I couldn’t find canned pumpkin in South Africa). Every year, with the arrival of December comes a steady stream of holiday cards from family and friends. As a kid, it was among the most exciting mail we got all year. My mom is one of eight and all of her sisters and brothers sent cards from across the country; it was usually the only time I got to “see” my far-away cousins aside from family reunions. My parents put a lot of time and effort into our holiday cards. My dad would devise an elaborate theme or scene (for example, one year we brought a little Christmas tree and Santa hats to the beach and wrote out, “Merry Christmas from the Sandy Clauses” on the beach) and my mom would painstakingly write out each one and send them to dozens of family and friends. Deciding who would get a holiday card in a given year was a complex undertaking involving multiple variables such as: did they send us a card last year? do we think we have their current address? are we still friends with them? Read more…
We are on the tip of the African continent, visiting my in-laws in Port Elizabeth, South Africa. After an unexpected death in the family a few months ago, my husband and I decided to come out to throw his extended family an American Thanksgiving. Although the hot weather necessitated some menu modifications (for example, cold potato salad instead of hot mashed potatoes), we had a gorgeous turkey with cranberry sauce and gravy, stuffing, salad, noodle kugel, green beans, and an assortment of pies. My kids made foam turkeys for each place setting and a gingerbread turkey as the centerpiece. As per tradition, we all over ate and enjoyed one another’s company until late into the evening. The South Africans were grateful we had shared our American custom.
The next morning, however, we were horrified to discover that while Thanksgiving remains uniquely American, South Africa – and likely other countries as well – has adopted the more modern U.S. tradition of Black Friday. We happened to be at one of the area’s largest malls on Friday morning (for an animatronic dinosaur exhibition) so had a first-hand experience of the consumption hysteria. People with trolleys ( that’s what they call shopping cart here) loaded with TVs, designer clothes, and new gadgets pushed past each other to scoop up the next “Black Friday” bargain. The shops seemed to encourage this stampede effect by publishing in their ads how many of a certain item would be available at the discounted rate. Read more…
Many things change upon becoming a parent, but among the most profound is one’s relationship to sleep. However you previously felt about the inherent human need for rest, having children alters that dramatically – at least for a few years (I’ve heard it gets better, but my oldest is nearly five and my youngest is six months so I’m not there yet!).
As parents, it is easy to attribute every meltdown, shoving incident, or otherwise embarrassing/ unpleasant child behavior to lack of sleep. “Oh, she missed her nap so is acting out.” Or, “he’s had a long day so doesn’t feel like sharing right now.” These excuses may often be true, but the kid won’t admit it. For reasons I may never understand, my kids hate to go to sleep. Even when their utter exhaustion is causing them to stumble and slur their words, they insist that they are “not tired at all!” When I point out that their actions are demonstrating that they are indeed overtired, my children shriek their disagreement as if I had just accused them of being monsters.
I recently discovered that I suffer from the reverse blind spot. I insist on finding reasons for my work blunders, double-scheduling, cooking failures, missed deadlines, messy house, and bad moods. I tell myself (and anyone who will listen) that I have too much on my plate, allergies, a lot of my mind, crazy hormones, frustrating clients, and three small kids. That may all be true, but the root of all that ails and irks me these days is not what I have, but what I don’t have: enough sleep. The trouble is, I have become so accustomed to my sleep-deprived state that I tend to forget what it was like to function on adequate rest. Recently, I have been wondering if my failure to appreciate the effect that a lack of sleep has on me is due, at least in part, to insufficient vocabulary to describe this condition. Read more…
My baby is six months old today, and yet I still call him “my newborn.” 183 nights he has slept by my side, but it still startles me to awake to him crying in his co-sleeper. He has learned to roll, grab, sit, smile, and laugh, but we can only guess at the person he will grow up to be. Read more…
The sun is shining and birds are chirping as leaves float lazily from the canopy of trees surrounding my suburban home. My children shout with glee in the yard and my baby coos in his high chair – three healthy little humans without a care in the world. At the same time, stories of disaster and devastation intertwine with the smells of supper as I listen to the radio while doing the day’s dishes. This month has seen record-breaking hurricanes and chart-topping earthquakes, as well as hydrogen bomb threats, racially-motivated shootings, terrorist attacks, a refugee crisis, several famines, and countless other tragedies occurring simultaneously all over the world. Is it just me, or has the never-ending stream of bad news turned into a flood all of a sudden? My idyllic life bears no hint of the horrors too many on our planet are facing, and yet, their suffering keeps me up at night and gnaws at my happiness. Read more…
For the past three weeks, my Facebook feed has been full of cute kids wearing new backpacks holding signs declaring their first day of school. Worn down by the virtual peer pressure, I asked my husband to take “chalkboard portraits” of our kids as they headed off for their respective first days. I felt sad to miss the excitement as my son reunited with his friends for pre-kindergarten and as my daughter set off for her very first day of preschool. But for them, every day is exciting so they were not concerned that I was not present to drop them off or pick them up on that first day. Although I believe it is important to celebrate milestones and emphasize the importance of getting an education, the first-day-of-school photos are not really for our kids’ sake. They are for us, the moms and dads trying to mark a moment in time by drawing a chalk line in the sand. We fawn over the photos with current nostalgia, knowing that we will look back on our little darlings at the end of the school year and marvel over how much they’ve changed. Read more…
We have been friends since before we were born; our fathers’ bond bringing us together long before we had a say in such matters. We have always lived hundreds of miles apart, but our mutual affection kept as close as we navigated the unartful process of growing up in parallel, even when we could not be together. I remember whispering late into the night about musical shows we would put on for our parents, and later, about crushes we would never reveal to our folks. We have shared heartbreaks, dream jobs, cross-country moves, and familial angst. But when I got married and started a family, while you continued your pursuit of passion, it seemed like we did not have much in common anymore.
Now, on the eve of the birth of your first child, I feel closer to you than ever. I have known you my whole life, but not even I – not even you – can know how motherhood will change you. You will get advice from every side, often contradicting itself (for example, “do whatever you need to do to stay rested,” versus “avoid using any ‘crutches’ to get your baby to sleep or else you will establish bad habits”). I am always available to you should you have any questions, but I will limit my advice to a single mantra: Just DON’T. Read more…
Yesterday, I saw a deer in the road. She was standing still, right in the middle of the road as a queue of cars formed behind her. As I was beginning to worry that she was confused, a young fawn appeared from the brush by the side of the road. His mother held her crossing guard position as he bounded across, but did not follow him. Sure enough, a moment later a second little deer appeared from the woods. And still, the mother deer did not move. Finally, after what seemed like minutes, the smallest deer I have ever seen tentatively made her way across the street. A knot rose in my throat and tears came to my eyes. The doe was risking her own life to protect her children. It was her natural instinct to stay near her young, to ensure they had enough to eat, and to keep them safe.
I went back to work today. I had hoped it might be easier, seeing as this is my third return to work after having a baby. However, it is also the end of my last maternity leave, and that makes it almost unbearable. I do not know if I will ever again have the chance to spend three uninterrupted months with my beautiful children and supportive husband. For the rest of my life, I will have to make do with crumbs of quality time – a long weekend here and there, a glorious two-week vacation once or twice a year, and stolen moments on sick days and holidays. Despite the many challenges of having a newborn and introducing a fifth person into our family, I did my best not to take a single moment of the last 11 weeks for granted. (Don’t get me started on how ridiculously short that is by global standards, or how inhumane it is that as a federal employee I do not get a single day of paid maternity leave, but had to save up my sick and vacation leave over the past two years in order to have a chance to bond with my newborn – I covered that in a previous post.)
As I was leaving this morning, my children smothered me in hugs and kisses and told me how much they’d miss me. Unlike my previous maternity leaves, my 4- and 2-year-olds now understand that I work in an office, that I stayed home for awhile after their baby brother was born, and that I would eventually have to return to my day job. A few days after our baby was born, my eldest asked when I would have to go back to work. I assured him that I would be around for a long time and that we would have lots of fun as a family before then. Even as I put on a brave face for my son’s sake, my heart ached when I contemplated that day. Today.
Newborns develop so rapidly in their first months of life. My husband and I swear we see changes in our son even day to day. He is smiling and just starting to laugh, a chortle that seems appropriate for his balding head and grumpy old man face. I wish I could nestle him inside my suit jacket and keep him close to me as I venture back into the professional world. Even with my children’s initials jangling from a charm bracelet on my wrist, I feel naked without them. They are like phantom limbs that are not a part of me and yet I do not feel like me without them.
I started this blog four years ago after I left my first born to return to a not-my-dream job and was struggling to hold on to the person I was before I’d taken my maternity leave. I sought a balance between “me” and “mom.” For example, if I wanted to go to a friend’s birthday party but it was during my son’s nap time, I’d just put him in the carrier and let him nap there while I caught up with my friends. When my husband and I were invited to visit friends in Vienna, we jumped at the chance and tacked on a week in Budapest as well. Our 18-month-old could not have cared less about the museums, palaces, memorials, and gardens we dragged him to, but we wanted to see it all so brought him along for the ride. In the evenings, I would carve out “me time” for scrapbooking, creative writing, jewelry making, exercising, knitting, reading, etc. I jealously guarded that time, believing it was something I was owed after all the sacrifices I had made for my child. After all, that’s what the articles, blogs, OBs, celebrities, and mamas’ groups say: “You need to take care of yourself before you can take care of your children.” It’s the oxygen mask approach to parenting: you must fit your own mask before assisting others.
Nearly 4 and a half years into my parenting journey, there is no longer much distinction between those parts of myself that I identify as “me” and those parts that are “mom.” I still go to my friends’ birthday parties and travel the world, but now I make sure that I am home by bedtime and that we go to kid friendly places. To
celebrate my birthday this month, I tried to have a full day of me time with an adults-only trip to a waterside park with my husband. We had fun riding the biggest slides together, but I missed our children the whole time and regretted not bringing them along. Their happiness is my greatest joy, their struggles my greatest challenges. Despite the oxygen mask advice, making my family my first priority – above my work and even myself – feels right to me.
We recently visited a dear friend who just had her first child. “Everything feels different,” she told me. “Nothing will ever be the same,” I acknowledged. The birth of a mother is a one-way trip. I could put on a suit, head back to the office, and take up the matters I was working on before my child was born, but something has fundamentally changed. Values, priorities, and perspectives shift. I don’t think my boss would say I am a less effective attorney since becoming a mom, but I don’t take my work as seriously or personally. That is probably a good thing, but even if it was not, I am powerless to change back to the self-sacrificing go-getter I was before parenthood.
After four years, it still feels unnatural for me to leave my small children. Even though I know they are in the very capable hands of my husband, I miss them terribly. All day today, in an effort to comfort me, my colleagues reminded me that I am setting a good example, and they pointed me to studies extolling the many ways children benefit from having a working mother. Others told me they couldn’t wait to go back to work after they had their children. They pointed out that I now get to sit in a quiet office and talk to adults instead of drowning in dirty diapers and spit up all day. That all may be true, but selfishly, I’d rather spend these precious early years with my children. They will be pushing me away soon enough. Over the last 11 weeks, I held them close as much as I could. It was noisy, chaotic, messy, exhausting, and difficult, but I would not trade that time with my family for anything. Now I will have to work even harder to connect with my kids and husband when I get the chance, and try to help them understand why I have to leave them to go to work. I know the leaving will eventually get easier on all of us, but right now, it is so hard.
Calling it a smile does not do it justice.
All human beings smile – at a joke, to be polite, upon seeing a friend.
You don’t just turn up the corners of your mouth.
Dimples appear in your chubby cheeks, like the imprints of angels’ kisses.
Your tongue peeks playfully from your wide, toothless mouth.
Your nose crinkles almost imperceptibly, making space for the happiness that takes over your face.
You cannot speak, or even laugh, but when you look at me with joy the rest of the world falls silent.
Our noisy home, our busy lives, our troubled world, all stands still when your face lights up with what is too brilliant to be called simply a smile.
Thank you for shining your light on me.