Friday, April 24, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Pity party: Table for one, please
My husband has a job (for now at least, which is about the best anyone can say right now). My baby is cute and (mostly) healthy. We have enough to eat and a place to live. Etc, etc, etc. Despite all this, I feel it's a little unfair that my reward for taking care of a sick cranky toddler alone for three days earlier this week (sick, not anymore; cranky, ongoing) was to miss Easter. I wasn't feeling so hot last night and woke up sick as a dog this morning. No Easter church. No reveling in my first Sunday with Evelyn in nursery, looking cute as a bug in her Easter dress. No Easter baskets. No Easter dinner.
Is this shallow? Yes, definitely. Especially since John is a rock star and asked virtually nothing of me today. My only childcare responsibilities comprised laying on the couch in a stupor while Evelyn watched Signing Time for an hour after her nap. Fingers crossed that lying in bed all day long finds me fit as a fiddle by early Tuesday morning when Evelyn and I are headed out to see my grandfather, sick or not.
Is this shallow? Yes, definitely. Especially since John is a rock star and asked virtually nothing of me today. My only childcare responsibilities comprised laying on the couch in a stupor while Evelyn watched Signing Time for an hour after her nap. Fingers crossed that lying in bed all day long finds me fit as a fiddle by early Tuesday morning when Evelyn and I are headed out to see my grandfather, sick or not.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
I heart Motrin, aka From 103.7 to 100.2 in less than 60 minutes
Evelyn got up from her nap today and asked me to help her put on her sweater, then asked me to zip it up. She asked for a snack and screamed when I tried to give her one. Then she asked to go back to bed. I took her temperature (twice, to be sure) and freaked out when it read 103.7 since she's never run a temperature above 100 before. I didn't put her back to bed, but I did arrange her on the couch with her blanket, her bear, her lovey, and Signing Time, where she lay for an hour and half, head on the pillow, face flushed, barely moving. It was creepy. Once the Motrin kicked in, she was back to normal---running around, throwing toys, and jumping on the couch. I heart modern medicine.
Before.
After.
In case you hadn't heard, we're in a recession
And we've all been doing our part to cut spending. Some things that have been sacrificed:
Hair care
Wardrobe
Vehicle maintenance
It's kind of like being in high school again, what with the duct tape and all. Except with kids and a mortgage and without the parental safety net.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Today, I . . .
*took Evelyn to the eye doctor. Her vision has neither worsened nor improved since 9 months, but since her eyes don't cross at all, we were able to temporarily avoid glasses. We'll go back in the fall and will probably come home with glasses then. This is truly a tender mercy as I was dreading glasses fights after seeing her break both my and her sunglasses last week.
*stripped the beds.
*emptied the dishwasher.
*prepared, fed, and cleared breakfast.
*prepared, fed, and cleared lunch.
*utilized the "time out chair" for the first time.
*played with a shape sorter.
*cleaned up toys.
*read a story.
*enforced nap time.
*put in laundry.
None of it was particularly exciting. Is this who I am now? Forever?
Last week I was going through old emails and found a very complimentary email from a former professor who was just appointed to the Second Circuit Court of Appeals. He is smart. Wickedly so. He once thought I was smart. Not many people have reason to think that now. I wonder if I will ever feel that type of satisfaction again, and I start to panic a little. I know I'm doing what's right for our family. A conversation with a former coworker last week only cemented in my mind my conviction that we picked the course that is best for us. Realistically, this is probably what I'll be doing for the next 10 or 15 years at least. In the grand scheme of my life, 15 years is a minority share of my time, but once those years have passed, will I be good for anything else? Will I want to be good for anything else?
I don't mean this to come off as frustration with my current life. It isn't. I'm in a good place. I have conviction in what I'm doing. I find myself frequently sitting back, smiling, and thinking, "My life is sort of perfect right now." Bankruptcies, tantrums, and nose-diving assets notwithstanding. A friend sent me a quote today that resonated with how I feel:
"Let us remember, too, that greatness is not always a matter of the scale of one’s life, but of the quality of one’s life. True greatness is not always tied to the scope of our tasks, but to the quality of how we carry out our tasks whatever they are. In that attitude, let us give our time, ourselves, and our talents to the things that really matter now, things which will still matter a thousand years from now."
--Spencer W. Kimball, "A Gift of Gratitude"
But part of the reason I'm enjoying myself now is because I can still think of it as temporary. As a season instead of a lifetime. I still feel like I can do something else someday.
I'm a planner. A 5-year, 10-year, 20-year+ planner. I like to know what comes next. I don't know what my next act is; I won't for some time, and that's scary. Maybe that's part of what I'm supposed to learn. To be okay with the uncertainty. And maybe this season has more to teach me than just how to entertain a toddler.
*stripped the beds.
*emptied the dishwasher.
*prepared, fed, and cleared breakfast.
*prepared, fed, and cleared lunch.
*utilized the "time out chair" for the first time.
*played with a shape sorter.
*cleaned up toys.
*read a story.
*enforced nap time.
*put in laundry.
None of it was particularly exciting. Is this who I am now? Forever?
Last week I was going through old emails and found a very complimentary email from a former professor who was just appointed to the Second Circuit Court of Appeals. He is smart. Wickedly so. He once thought I was smart. Not many people have reason to think that now. I wonder if I will ever feel that type of satisfaction again, and I start to panic a little. I know I'm doing what's right for our family. A conversation with a former coworker last week only cemented in my mind my conviction that we picked the course that is best for us. Realistically, this is probably what I'll be doing for the next 10 or 15 years at least. In the grand scheme of my life, 15 years is a minority share of my time, but once those years have passed, will I be good for anything else? Will I want to be good for anything else?
I don't mean this to come off as frustration with my current life. It isn't. I'm in a good place. I have conviction in what I'm doing. I find myself frequently sitting back, smiling, and thinking, "My life is sort of perfect right now." Bankruptcies, tantrums, and nose-diving assets notwithstanding. A friend sent me a quote today that resonated with how I feel:
"Let us remember, too, that greatness is not always a matter of the scale of one’s life, but of the quality of one’s life. True greatness is not always tied to the scope of our tasks, but to the quality of how we carry out our tasks whatever they are. In that attitude, let us give our time, ourselves, and our talents to the things that really matter now, things which will still matter a thousand years from now."
--Spencer W. Kimball, "A Gift of Gratitude"
But part of the reason I'm enjoying myself now is because I can still think of it as temporary. As a season instead of a lifetime. I still feel like I can do something else someday.
I'm a planner. A 5-year, 10-year, 20-year+ planner. I like to know what comes next. I don't know what my next act is; I won't for some time, and that's scary. Maybe that's part of what I'm supposed to learn. To be okay with the uncertainty. And maybe this season has more to teach me than just how to entertain a toddler.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Hurt
Evelyn and I went to the pediatrician today for a quick look at a toe/foot injury. Nothing serious, thankfully, and she seemed pretty pleased with the whole thing once I gave her the sucker I promised her for being brave. She deserved it. It was a big owie, and she obviously recognized this as she spent a couple hours this morning alternately telling me she was "hurt" (with words and the appropriate sign, thank you Signing Time) and pointing at her foot saying, "owie, owie."
I realized while sitting in the doctor's waiting room that this is the third time in a row we've been in for an unplanned visit in the week before her well child appointment. 12 months - ripped stitch after our first ER visit. 15 months - follow up appointment after she'd ended up on breathing treatments for severe wheezing while we were away at Christmas. 18 months - foot injury. "Next time," the doctor said, "maybe you should delete the appointment from your planner and try to forget about it for the week or two before." That's probably good advice. But in any case, I think I'll hold off on scheduling anything crazy for July 4th. She turns 21 months on July 5th. Chances are I'll have either a sick kid, or even worse on a holiday involving things that explode, an accident-prone one. No sparklers for us.
What I learned in Italy
I've put off writing this more substantive side of the travel post because I kept hoping I would think of something more substantive to say in it. No luck. But I do have a few thoughts about my first venture to Europe that I'd like to jot down, so here goes.
Honestly, I was a little surprised by my first European destination. I've been to several places with old sites - ruins, churches, etc, but I guess I expected historic sites in Europe to be a cleaner, more Disneylandish type experience than sites in third-world countries I've visited. I was surprised at how much Rome and Florence, especially, reminded me of past South American and Asian trips. There were huge differences, but I thought a few times while looking down a row of apartments on a side street, "Take a picture, and this street could be in any city in a variety of countries." Of course, put people on that street and the differences become more apparent. The crowds were dressed more like home, and we saw very few beggars, compared to other vacations I've taken.
I was particularly shocked by the amount of graffiti we saw. All over the outside of the Accademia. All along the staircase up to the top of the Duomo and on the outside walls once we reached the peak. I guess I didn't expect it because I thought these sites would be better guarded or preserved than sites of similar ages in poorer countries, but at some point, maybe old is old, and wear and tear starts to show. I also think I'm sensitized to graffiti because we see so little of it in New York, compared to other large cities.
Another thing that surprised me was the degree to which the cities we visited felt very unlike the city in which I live. In my mind, I can say New York, Rome, Florence, in the same sentence without immediately thinking, "One of these things is not like the other." I don't feel that way about saying, for example, "New York, Boston, LA." I had this notion that I'd be walking around Rome thinking, "This feels more like home than other American cities." That the great capitals of Europe would be New York alternatives to me in a way other American cities aren't. I didn't feel that way, and no surprise. New York really is much bigger, not to mention much newer than the other cities we visited. It's different.
I read over the above, and I'm a little afraid I sound like a spoiled brat. We had a lovely time. It was an amazing trip. The culture, history, art, architecture, food, etc was wonderfully rich, and we enjoyed it. So much so that John, who is usually keen to escape early or avoid entirely a museum visit, actually offered to go to the Met with me when we get back (if we can rent or download audio guides). But none of these things surprised me. I expected them. The other things are more interesting, then, to me, because they revealed something about the biases and stereotypes I hold. When I travel, I am always surprised that, at the end of the day, one place in one country with one culture can be so similar to another place in a country halfway around the world with a completely different culture. Being human really gives us a lot of common ground.
On a total side note, hallelujah for city planning, especially for relatively wide sidewalks. I think I had nightmares when we were there about trying to navigate even the Maclaren on those sidewalks the size of gutters, never mind the bigger stroller.
Honestly, I was a little surprised by my first European destination. I've been to several places with old sites - ruins, churches, etc, but I guess I expected historic sites in Europe to be a cleaner, more Disneylandish type experience than sites in third-world countries I've visited. I was surprised at how much Rome and Florence, especially, reminded me of past South American and Asian trips. There were huge differences, but I thought a few times while looking down a row of apartments on a side street, "Take a picture, and this street could be in any city in a variety of countries." Of course, put people on that street and the differences become more apparent. The crowds were dressed more like home, and we saw very few beggars, compared to other vacations I've taken.
I was particularly shocked by the amount of graffiti we saw. All over the outside of the Accademia. All along the staircase up to the top of the Duomo and on the outside walls once we reached the peak. I guess I didn't expect it because I thought these sites would be better guarded or preserved than sites of similar ages in poorer countries, but at some point, maybe old is old, and wear and tear starts to show. I also think I'm sensitized to graffiti because we see so little of it in New York, compared to other large cities.
Another thing that surprised me was the degree to which the cities we visited felt very unlike the city in which I live. In my mind, I can say New York, Rome, Florence, in the same sentence without immediately thinking, "One of these things is not like the other." I don't feel that way about saying, for example, "New York, Boston, LA." I had this notion that I'd be walking around Rome thinking, "This feels more like home than other American cities." That the great capitals of Europe would be New York alternatives to me in a way other American cities aren't. I didn't feel that way, and no surprise. New York really is much bigger, not to mention much newer than the other cities we visited. It's different.
I read over the above, and I'm a little afraid I sound like a spoiled brat. We had a lovely time. It was an amazing trip. The culture, history, art, architecture, food, etc was wonderfully rich, and we enjoyed it. So much so that John, who is usually keen to escape early or avoid entirely a museum visit, actually offered to go to the Met with me when we get back (if we can rent or download audio guides). But none of these things surprised me. I expected them. The other things are more interesting, then, to me, because they revealed something about the biases and stereotypes I hold. When I travel, I am always surprised that, at the end of the day, one place in one country with one culture can be so similar to another place in a country halfway around the world with a completely different culture. Being human really gives us a lot of common ground.
On a total side note, hallelujah for city planning, especially for relatively wide sidewalks. I think I had nightmares when we were there about trying to navigate even the Maclaren on those sidewalks the size of gutters, never mind the bigger stroller.
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