I was boiling eggs for our kids to color for Easter when I realized it was official... I'm a grown-up.
I am 45, and you would think this revelation would have hit me sooner. But my sisters and I all waited until our thirties and forties to have children and had an extended childhood of sorts.
I've been on my own since I was 23, but it wasn't until I had my own children that my parents stopped coloring eggs with us, or at least, for us, if we couldn't come early for the egg coloring. There was also a lovely Easter basket waiting for me on Easter morning.
As I was getting everything ready for our brood this year, it occurred to me that the torch has been passed. Memories of my own childhood are still on my mind, but they have been surpassed by memories I have of the family I created with my husband.
We've developed our own traditions, different from the ones I grew up with. A case in point would be my version of egg coloring, which is certainly not as professional as my father's. He would faint if he saw the mess I made as I added color to the bowls because the kit I bought was not doing such a good job.
There were no kits in my house when I was growing up. We used food coloring. If my father had his way, we would have made dye from the vegetables and flowers my sisters and I would have had to forage for in the suburban wilds of Long Island.
Thank you Mom for keeping Grizzly Adams on a leash.
My father's egg coloring operation was enough for an army of bunnies. The egg holders were fashioned out of wire: Store bought holders were not for us. The bowls of dye were lined in a row, and were laid out so the festivities could begin.
My father has been coloring eggs my whole life, even when there wasn't a baby or child in sight.
My parents love to celebrate holidays. My mother made the most beautiful Easter baskets for us filled with handmade chocolate bunnies, intricately decorated sugar eggs, and other truly beautiful confections from speciality candy stores.
Mass-market bunnies were not for her girls. The baskets frequently had a theme, such as a garden or spring toys. I remember when I was eight she did a sewing theme and I got pink thread, a pin cushion, and sewing needles.
There was a magical excitement to walk downstairs and find the baskets we set out the night before lined in a row and filled with treats. Each basket was topped with a beautiful bow or ribbon that mom would put in our hair for church.
My sisters and I would giggle, eat jelly beans, and compare what the bunny brought us: "I got pink bubbles..." "I got blue..." "My bunny has a purple bow..." "Mine has yellow."
The Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, and Santa Claus were all important traditions throughout my childhood. They were so important that long after we were children, my parents incorporated them into our holidays. Egg hunts and all. This of course was a source of amusement for our husbands.
The other day my 12-year old, Tom, and I were discussing our plans for Easter. It has been extra fun this year because our six-year old Peter has been so excited over the prospect of a visit from the Easter Bunny.
"Mom, it is so cute that he believes in the Easter Bunny," said Tom, who was four when he figured there was no such thing.
"It just doesn't make sense," he said at the time.
I shared with him that, until he was born, my parents still hid eggs for me and his aunts. He thought this was hysterical. The image of his grown mother and her sisters looking for colored eggs was just too much. Then he said, "That's so cute mom."
My parents are in their glory now with seven grandchildren ranging from 12 years down to five months. My mother's beautiful baskets are now reserved for her grandchildren, who open them up with the same amazement my sisters and I had.
The egg hunts are much more exciting now with children rushing all over the yard.
I relish the idea that years from now there will be a whole new generation talking about their own memories of my parents and the holidays they made special.
In my house, I am the one and only official Easter Bunny. Different perhaps then the bunny of my childhood, but just as special for our three children.
The chain continues.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Best Laid Plans
Ever since I was a child, I’ve had a strong maternal instinct and a strong need to use it. But my two younger sisters saw no need to have two mothers when they already had one, and I put my energy into learning all I could about parenting and proper child rearing. That just thrilled my friends who had children before me.
When at last I became a mother at thirty-three, I was more than ready to put my instincts and all my years of reading on parenthood into practice.
Armed with my natural instincts and the skills I accrued during my ten years of working in the corporate world as an assistant to various financial executives, I set out to be my ideal of the modern educated stay- at-home-mom. There would be no soap operas and lounging on the sofa for me. I would not be running errands in my sweats without any make-up. I wanted to be a positive reflection on women who made the conscious choice to stay home with their children.
Boy was I dumb.
After I managed to get myself off the sofa from the sheer exhaustion of raising one very wonderful little baby, I started on my mission. As if my first born was just a small version of the executives I once worked for, I began scheduling our days with stimulating and educational activities.
My son and I took our first enrichment class when he was about seven months old. We started with a baby swim class, followed by a gym/swim class, then a play gym class, and several mommy-and-me classes. It’s never too early to instill a love of the environment, and that led us to do two sessions of “wee-sprouts” at a local ecological center. We rounded this out with several Gymboree classes as well as several mother-and-child music classes. This was all before he started pre-school at three.
Since my son had some speech and motor delays, he also started receiving early intervention services at home a few months before he turned two. Each week, a speech therapist, an occupational therapist, and a physical therapist would meet with him two times apiece for a total of six weekly sessions.
For fun we went to two different play groups each week, and had a host of play dates with age appropriate children. Occasionally we even went into the city to audition for TV commercials. We never booked a job, but we always had fun meeting more moms and children. My son happily played in his stroller as we would walk the streets of Manhattan and visit old co-workers or one of my sisters for lunch. If we had the chance to visit a zoo or museum, I felt even better.
On our “down time,” I carefully structured our play to include the activities I read about in parenting magazines and books. I made petting zoos out of stuffed animals and played sensory games and read lots of books. We did watch our share of Nick Jr. and PBS, but in my defense they were always deemed educational and age appropriate. I also managed to move houses and have a second baby at the recommended spacing of three years.
Honestly, I don’t know how we survived.
I’m surprised somebody didn’t plan an intervention, perhaps luring me with the promise of a parenting seminar and then holding me in a room while more experienced mothers pounded some sense into my head. My son’s physical therapist did comment once that he had never seen a more scheduled two year old, but I foolishly took this as a compliment.
As it turned out, I got my intervention. I had more children. All my carefully scheduled activities snuck out the window with the addition of our daughter. They were completely gone shortly after our youngest son was added to the mix.
Life required me to be more spontaneous. Especially, as it became more and more apparent that my daughter’s learning delays were much more severe than my first child’s. We then added even more complexity when my youngest also required early intervention. More therapists joined the mix. Formal school programs and other peoples schedules started to replace my carefully constructed plans. Our schedule was just as crazy. I just had less control over it.
The crazier and more intense my life got the more I had to let go. Instead of going to formal classes, my youngest and I counted fruit and vegetables as we went to the market. We sang songs while we waited to pick up my daughter from school or read a story while we waited for my eldest’s school bus. Fun was and thankfully still is a natural part of our life, not something I need to schedule.
I learned the hard way that motherhood is not something that can be done perfectly and orderly. Motherhood is messy, hectic, confusing, and fun. There is no one right way to parent nor is there a perfect recipe to raising a happy and healthy child. In the long run there is only one parenting expert we need to listen to, ourselves.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
I'm Versatile and Very Grateful!
Aimiee over at And We're Off Too... Very nicely awarded me the Versatile Blogger Award
In the spirit of the Award I will show off my versatility by posting on a Wednesday!
Aimiee has a great blog that chronicles the adventures of her family as they go off to new places!
You can find her at http://www.andweareoffto.blogspot.com/
To formally accept this award you are asked to do a few things:
First thank and link to the blogger who gave you the award (That was easy!)
Share 7 things about yourself
Share this Award with 15 other bloggers - well in the spirit of being Versatile, I would like to give this award to 8 blogs that I really enjoy!
Life's Twisted Stitches
Coffee Lovin Mom
Karen Dawkins
Kinderpendent
Life As 5
My 3 Little Birds
Artsy Nina
Tootie Foodie
Now for the 7 things about me:
- I love Law and Order and watch it whenever I can.
- This is embarrassing to admit but I love to read Danielle Steele novels. My husband buys me them on Mothers Day and on Super Bowl Sunday. I usually am to embarrassed to buy them for myself.
- As a child I had two gerbils, one killed himself by eating a cedar chip, the other one hung himself on the hamster wheel we bought to console him on his loss. (you can't make this stuff up!)
- I love the Carpenters, Broadway musicals and all radio stations that play "Lite" music. My husband calls it W I M P wimp radio.
- My husband and I got engaged on Valentines day 1992.
- I hate the beach.
- I did not get my drivers licence till I was 35. ( I lived in the city for 14 years so I never needed it and I had a death fear of driving. Once I had my son and we moved to the suburbs I had to learn. I took 30 driving lessons and never drove with my husband till after I got my license. This was advice my father-in-law gave. Apparently one of the worst fights he ever had with Joe's mother was when he taught her to drive!)
Sunday, April 10, 2011
A Happy Detour
I stared at the white stick and I just couldn't believe me eyes. It was turning pink... in two places. Just like the box said it would if you were pregnant.
How could I be pregnant? The doctors couldn't believe I managed to have two children. How could this just happen with no planning? My heart was beating fast, and I wasn't sure how I felt.
One thought ran through my mind--my parents are going to kill me.
This was a strange thought. I was hardly a teenager. I was 39, married, and owned my own house. Yet I was terrified of what my parents would say.
I responded to this surprise like I do almost anything else in my life, I laughed hysterically.
My husband was waiting outside the bathroom for me. I walked out with the stick in my hand laughing... and he knew I wasn't going through early menopause like I thought I was.
His huge smile and the look of complete joy on his face helped relieve some of my fear. Although I could list them in my head.
Would I be able to carry this pregnancy to term? Even though we had two children, I still had the memory of my past miscarriages. And my children's pregnancies had been monitored so closely even before I conceived, testing levels, adjusting hormones. I did not want to go through the pain of another miscarriage.
Would I be able to physically handle this pregnancy? My pregnancy with my daughter had been fairly hard and had entailed taking Heparin shots to control a blood-clot disorder that the doctors had found I had after we had our son.
To make things a bit more interesting, the shots caused a painful allergic reaction that meant I needed prednisone. The prednisone caused an ulcer.
Could I go through all of that again? Would I be able to do all this and care for my two children?
And what about that? My oldest was almost six, and he was doing beautifully, but it had required a lot of work. We had been working with speech and occupational therapists to help him deal with some learning differences.
My daughter? She was two-and-a-half and getting a host of therapies. Yet we still had no answers as to why she was not talking or reaching other developmental milestones.
I knew why my parents were going to kill me. They didn't want to see me go through all of that again. My mother, as well as a few of the doctors in my high-risk pregnancy group, told me to get my tubes tied after I had my daughter. That was the prudent thing to do.
But when my ob-gyn told me he felt I could handle another pregnancy, I let my pure love of babies cloud my judgment. Plus I figured I could only get pregnant with medical intervention. Any other way of conceiveing just seemed like a fairy tale that happend to other people. This was nuts.
Thankfully that night it was just my husband and me. A rare night alone since the kids were having a sleepover at my parents house. Joe was so happy, and so was I. I was thrilled. All logic went out the window. This just wasn't another baby, it was a secret wish.
As I write this I am struck by how I felt the wish for a third baby needed to be a secret. I realized it seemed impractical because a pregnancy did take so much out of me physically and I had so much on my plate. I knew that I wouldn't have gone out of my way to try to have a third, which made it all the more special. After working so hard to have two babies, I was getting a bonus child. I felt like I won the lottery.
But I still wanted to be seen as the good girl. To make the choices that seemed measured and responsible. To never make a misstep. To never risk my parents or anyone's disapproval. I was almost 40 with a lifetime of experience behind me. Yet I felt like a teenager. The adult voice I had worked so hard to achieve and felt so comfortable with was suddenly caught in my throat.
My pregnancy with my youngest son taught me so much about myself and had me question my deep need to live my life for others. I changed.What others felt was right became less important.
I enjoyed my pregnancy knowing that this would be my last. When I finally held my gorgeous baby boy, I knew this surprise was meant to be.
Now my secret wish is a beautiful six-year-old. He is an amazing child who makes me laugh everyday. His smile melts my heart and he balances out our family perfectly. I simply could not imagine my life without him.
How could I be pregnant? The doctors couldn't believe I managed to have two children. How could this just happen with no planning? My heart was beating fast, and I wasn't sure how I felt.
One thought ran through my mind--my parents are going to kill me.
This was a strange thought. I was hardly a teenager. I was 39, married, and owned my own house. Yet I was terrified of what my parents would say.
I responded to this surprise like I do almost anything else in my life, I laughed hysterically.
My husband was waiting outside the bathroom for me. I walked out with the stick in my hand laughing... and he knew I wasn't going through early menopause like I thought I was.
His huge smile and the look of complete joy on his face helped relieve some of my fear. Although I could list them in my head.
Would I be able to carry this pregnancy to term? Even though we had two children, I still had the memory of my past miscarriages. And my children's pregnancies had been monitored so closely even before I conceived, testing levels, adjusting hormones. I did not want to go through the pain of another miscarriage.
Would I be able to physically handle this pregnancy? My pregnancy with my daughter had been fairly hard and had entailed taking Heparin shots to control a blood-clot disorder that the doctors had found I had after we had our son.
To make things a bit more interesting, the shots caused a painful allergic reaction that meant I needed prednisone. The prednisone caused an ulcer.
Could I go through all of that again? Would I be able to do all this and care for my two children?
And what about that? My oldest was almost six, and he was doing beautifully, but it had required a lot of work. We had been working with speech and occupational therapists to help him deal with some learning differences.
My daughter? She was two-and-a-half and getting a host of therapies. Yet we still had no answers as to why she was not talking or reaching other developmental milestones.
I knew why my parents were going to kill me. They didn't want to see me go through all of that again. My mother, as well as a few of the doctors in my high-risk pregnancy group, told me to get my tubes tied after I had my daughter. That was the prudent thing to do.
But when my ob-gyn told me he felt I could handle another pregnancy, I let my pure love of babies cloud my judgment. Plus I figured I could only get pregnant with medical intervention. Any other way of conceiveing just seemed like a fairy tale that happend to other people. This was nuts.
Thankfully that night it was just my husband and me. A rare night alone since the kids were having a sleepover at my parents house. Joe was so happy, and so was I. I was thrilled. All logic went out the window. This just wasn't another baby, it was a secret wish.
As I write this I am struck by how I felt the wish for a third baby needed to be a secret. I realized it seemed impractical because a pregnancy did take so much out of me physically and I had so much on my plate. I knew that I wouldn't have gone out of my way to try to have a third, which made it all the more special. After working so hard to have two babies, I was getting a bonus child. I felt like I won the lottery.
But I still wanted to be seen as the good girl. To make the choices that seemed measured and responsible. To never make a misstep. To never risk my parents or anyone's disapproval. I was almost 40 with a lifetime of experience behind me. Yet I felt like a teenager. The adult voice I had worked so hard to achieve and felt so comfortable with was suddenly caught in my throat.
My pregnancy with my youngest son taught me so much about myself and had me question my deep need to live my life for others. I changed.What others felt was right became less important.
I enjoyed my pregnancy knowing that this would be my last. When I finally held my gorgeous baby boy, I knew this surprise was meant to be.
Now my secret wish is a beautiful six-year-old. He is an amazing child who makes me laugh everyday. His smile melts my heart and he balances out our family perfectly. I simply could not imagine my life without him.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Student of the Week
Last week I had the pleasure of reading to my daughter Lizzy's class, a group of "typical" school children. I say typical because Lizzy splits her day between two classrooms. Part of the day is in Mrs. O's second grade, and the remainder is in a small group of five other children with special needs.
I appreciate it any time I take part in one of my children's school events. These are the days I dreamt of before I had children and are the wonderful, little things that make parenting so much fun. This time, I did the reading because it was my daughter's turn as student of the week.
I sat in the "Special Person" chair and waited for Lizzy to arrive. In front of me sat the 21 children in her "big" class.
These are children who are present enough in the world to know how to say what they want to say. They have one classroom and one teacher. To my knowledge, none of them need medication so that they can get through a school day without an outburst or meltdown.
The moment my daughter walked in the classroom accompanied by her teacher's aide, I was struck by how pretty she looked in her American Girl cardigan and pink skorts. My heart swelled as she recognized me, smiled, and said, "Mommy."
She sat down and tried to make her very long legs fit in the tight space with all the other children on the story carpet. She is at least a foot taller than the other children. Because of her developmental delays, she's been held back and is at least a year older than them. In addition, her endocrine system doesn't work properly, and that has caused her to grow faster than other kids.
Mrs. O hands me Lizzy's FM unit, which amplifies my voice so my daughter hears me directly in her own ears. All other noise is blocked out. It helps in big groups when many people are talking at once.
I whisper, "l love you," and she smiles. We've been playing the same game with the unit since she started wearing it six years ago.
Back then, we hoped that this would finally be the answer. Eighteen months before that, we had hoped inserting tubes in her ears would be our solution. We also invested a lot of faith in the speech therapy she soon started. Then there was what seemed like an endless series of specialists, therapies, schools, and tests all in search of the explanation for our daughter's disability and her shot at a normal life.
Each time, we'd find a new piece of the puzzle but nothing close to a definitive answer.
I start reading Madeline, which was my favorite book when I was growing up and the book I have been reading to Lizzy since she was a baby. I was waiting for her to answer her cue when I read, "To the Tiger in the zoo, Madeline just says..."
But it is harder for my daughter to enjoy a story when there are 20 other kids giggling.
I can tell she isn't quite with us. She's in a safer place somewhere in her own head where life is manageable. If we were alone laying in her pink canopy bed, I would ask her where she was and would laugh with her reply, "I'm in Fairy land, I'm in the jungle, or I'm on the cookie princess pink planet."
She's a magical child with a wonderful imagination. But she can only connect to the rest of the world in small doses.
I finish my story and the teacher asks Lizzy if this is her favorite book. "Yes," she replies and gives a smile.
I said my goodbyes to the children and Lizzy's teacher. I'm happy that Lizzy has a chance to interact with kids who are developing typically and grateful that my daughter is in such a welcoming environment.
I walk out with Lizzy and her aide. They're going back to her small group where she will work on the computer. She loves that. She gives me a big hug and a kiss, and I head back to my minivan.
I smiled and thought how this was the first time in all the years that I have visited Lizzy in a typical setting with typical children that I didn't cry or even feel the need to cry. That's a big change.
Acceptance has taken a long time, and I'm not even certain I have achieved it fully. Part of the problem is that Lizzy doesn't have a formal diagnosis.
There are no ribbons for us to wear, no bumper stickers to put on our car, no cause for us to get involved with, or other parents who have the same issues.
We are in a special club, but it's far bigger than most people would think. It's filled with families who have children with a host of medical and developmental issues. Some are life threatening, and yet no name has been put on them.
This year I've reached a level of peace. It's probably because Lizzy is happy and doing well. Getting through the school day isn't the challenge it once was. Finding a doctor that realized a lot of her behavioral symptoms fit a bipolar diagnosis and treated her accordingly helped tremendously.
The medications she takes have been life changing for Lizzy and the family. In the past year, we moved from a crisis to a settled period.
I would be lying if I didn't say that sometimes I wish it were different. I would be lying if I said I didn't wish Lizzy could have the life I had dreamt for her when I was pregnant with her 10 years ago.
But I'm happy knowing that the child I have is developing in a way where she seems happy. To wish for anything else would be to wish for someone other than Lizzy.
I can't do that. My daughter is a special person with her own approach to the world that makes her happy. I was searching for my happy ending that included a miracle cure. The cure hasn't materialized, and the doctors have told us it won't.
But I've come to realize that each day my daughter is happy, she's writing her own sort of happy ending. Each day, I learn a little more about accepting it.
I appreciate it any time I take part in one of my children's school events. These are the days I dreamt of before I had children and are the wonderful, little things that make parenting so much fun. This time, I did the reading because it was my daughter's turn as student of the week.
I sat in the "Special Person" chair and waited for Lizzy to arrive. In front of me sat the 21 children in her "big" class.
These are children who are present enough in the world to know how to say what they want to say. They have one classroom and one teacher. To my knowledge, none of them need medication so that they can get through a school day without an outburst or meltdown.
The moment my daughter walked in the classroom accompanied by her teacher's aide, I was struck by how pretty she looked in her American Girl cardigan and pink skorts. My heart swelled as she recognized me, smiled, and said, "Mommy."
She sat down and tried to make her very long legs fit in the tight space with all the other children on the story carpet. She is at least a foot taller than the other children. Because of her developmental delays, she's been held back and is at least a year older than them. In addition, her endocrine system doesn't work properly, and that has caused her to grow faster than other kids.
Mrs. O hands me Lizzy's FM unit, which amplifies my voice so my daughter hears me directly in her own ears. All other noise is blocked out. It helps in big groups when many people are talking at once.
I whisper, "l love you," and she smiles. We've been playing the same game with the unit since she started wearing it six years ago.
Back then, we hoped that this would finally be the answer. Eighteen months before that, we had hoped inserting tubes in her ears would be our solution. We also invested a lot of faith in the speech therapy she soon started. Then there was what seemed like an endless series of specialists, therapies, schools, and tests all in search of the explanation for our daughter's disability and her shot at a normal life.
Each time, we'd find a new piece of the puzzle but nothing close to a definitive answer.
I start reading Madeline, which was my favorite book when I was growing up and the book I have been reading to Lizzy since she was a baby. I was waiting for her to answer her cue when I read, "To the Tiger in the zoo, Madeline just says..."
But it is harder for my daughter to enjoy a story when there are 20 other kids giggling.
I can tell she isn't quite with us. She's in a safer place somewhere in her own head where life is manageable. If we were alone laying in her pink canopy bed, I would ask her where she was and would laugh with her reply, "I'm in Fairy land, I'm in the jungle, or I'm on the cookie princess pink planet."
She's a magical child with a wonderful imagination. But she can only connect to the rest of the world in small doses.
I finish my story and the teacher asks Lizzy if this is her favorite book. "Yes," she replies and gives a smile.
I said my goodbyes to the children and Lizzy's teacher. I'm happy that Lizzy has a chance to interact with kids who are developing typically and grateful that my daughter is in such a welcoming environment.
I walk out with Lizzy and her aide. They're going back to her small group where she will work on the computer. She loves that. She gives me a big hug and a kiss, and I head back to my minivan.
I smiled and thought how this was the first time in all the years that I have visited Lizzy in a typical setting with typical children that I didn't cry or even feel the need to cry. That's a big change.
Acceptance has taken a long time, and I'm not even certain I have achieved it fully. Part of the problem is that Lizzy doesn't have a formal diagnosis.
There are no ribbons for us to wear, no bumper stickers to put on our car, no cause for us to get involved with, or other parents who have the same issues.
We are in a special club, but it's far bigger than most people would think. It's filled with families who have children with a host of medical and developmental issues. Some are life threatening, and yet no name has been put on them.
This year I've reached a level of peace. It's probably because Lizzy is happy and doing well. Getting through the school day isn't the challenge it once was. Finding a doctor that realized a lot of her behavioral symptoms fit a bipolar diagnosis and treated her accordingly helped tremendously.
The medications she takes have been life changing for Lizzy and the family. In the past year, we moved from a crisis to a settled period.
I would be lying if I didn't say that sometimes I wish it were different. I would be lying if I said I didn't wish Lizzy could have the life I had dreamt for her when I was pregnant with her 10 years ago.
But I'm happy knowing that the child I have is developing in a way where she seems happy. To wish for anything else would be to wish for someone other than Lizzy.
I can't do that. My daughter is a special person with her own approach to the world that makes her happy. I was searching for my happy ending that included a miracle cure. The cure hasn't materialized, and the doctors have told us it won't.
But I've come to realize that each day my daughter is happy, she's writing her own sort of happy ending. Each day, I learn a little more about accepting it.
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