When Things Fall Apart

September 1st, 2010 by Diana
Respond

Late summer blows in like a sudden storm.  The cold front sends me rushing to close the windows, their casings swollen open groutpondfor three months straight.

I remember the heat wave now like a lost lover, blurred with nostalgia and regret. Why didn’t I savor it while it was here?  Why did I wish it away as I lay naked with the fan on, unable to sleep under that heavy summer blanket?

Now it is gone, gone for the year, and Autumn is upon us once more. I’m staring down the long tunnel of Fall and Winter, the light of next spring barely a pinprick in the distance.

Every year I think I will survive this change with some semblance of grace. And every year it floors me, knocks the wind out till I’m gasping like a kid fallen off a high swing, flat on her back in the dirt.  All summer I was giddy with constant sunshine and ice cream and spontaneous swimming adventures in ponds and rivers.  Suddenly we’re trading bikinis for fleece.  Soon it will be time to get out the wool hats.

If I could go back to the scarlet poppies in May, those showgirls tossing their crinkled silks, I would.  I’d go back to peonies, lilacs, back further to planting peas in the 8 o’ clock spring twilight.

But it’s late August.  We still have two weeks till school, and my children won’t stop fighting. Summer has turned them into feral animals, eating with their hands, running around naked, scratching and biting and pulling hair. Our doctor gave me a little lecture about enforcing mealtimes rather than letting the girls snack all day on demand.  She also told me to get firm at bedtime. It’s true, the best parents set clear limits with their children, but I’m just too tired to do it myself. I wish someone else could handle the discipline and let me lie back in bed, snuggling my girls and reading books.

I’m too tired to do much these days.  Cooking dinner, for example.  A real dinner, not just frozen pizza and some carrot sticks.  Too tired to write the scintillating Vermont version of Eat, Pray, Love and send it off to potential agents.  Too tired to build up my private teaching business, designing the perfect logo on the couch while the girls watch Angelina Ballerina.  And too tired, way too tired, to slip into something silky and try to seduce my husband at 10 o’clock at night. [Read more →]

Tags:   · · · · No Comments.

“Am I Jewish?”

September 1st, 2010 by Diana
Respond

Good news!  I just had an essay published on The Washington Post.com.  It’s on their Religion Blog, On Faith.  If you’re curious about things Jewish or want to read some inter-generational family history, feel free to give it a read.

Yoga Shala shrine

Yoga Shala shrine- NOT Jewish

Click here to read “Am I Jewish?”

Tags: No Comments.

One Day Till 5

August 25th, 2010 by Diana
Respond

avainboa

don't worry, it's not a real tattoo

It’s late August and A. is about to turn 5.

We’ve been on a countdown all month, and now the big day is TOMORROW. A. morphed into a nasty little monster in time for C’s birthday, but has now, thankfully, returned to her sunny personality. Despite some sister-hair-pulling and scratching, her behavior has been lovely– helpful, curious, sweet.

Is it possible that I’ve been a mother for 5 years?  Some days that number feels accurate, other days it seems outrageous.  Five years of 24-7 experience means that you should have a good handle on your job.  You should be quite accomplished at your job. But the truth is, this job is constantly changing, and I’m figuring it out as I go along.  Most days I’m crippled by doubts, questions and perennial guilt.

More so now than when A. was a baby.  Back then all I had to do was nurse and worry about how to get her to sleep.  I was privileged– I didn’t have to work and earn an income, I didn’t have to balance mothering with some semblance of career. Of course I also suffered from depression, insomnia, and the intense grief following my dad’s death (7 weeks before A was born).

I have to be careful not to romanticize those early months of motherhood.  It may seem like things were simpler then, but I was overwhelmed with change.  Now I try to accept that change is a constant with children.  No, with everything in life.

Just when I think I’m in a groove and the girls are sleeping through the night or behaving like angels, and I have some breathing space, some confidence about the future, something shifts again, from equilibrium to chaos.  C. stops nursing and starts pooping in her pants.  A. goes through a flurry of developmental insecurity and begins walloping her sister.  And we’re all thrown into upheaval, and the poor parents don’t know what to do.

Acceptance is the wisest path, though the hardest.  Can I accept my girls in their darkest, meanest, difficult hour?  Can I accept myself? (rarely).  Can I live in the midst of family strife, admitting I’m way over my head, that I don’t know how to parent? RESISTANCE to what is causes pain and suffering.  Or so says spiritual teacher Eckhart Tolle.  Today, I vow not to resist, but to embrace.

A upside down yoga

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

the courage to change the things I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference.

Happy Birthday, my beautiful 5-year-old!

Tags:   · · · 1 Comment

Feels Like The Last Time

August 16th, 2010 by Diana
Respond

C with bday cupcakeMy baby is turning 3.  The fact of her birthday slams into my hot sunny summer like a dump truck full of depression.

Why am I not celebrating this milestone– the final 12 months of The Baby Cave, which, I’ve been told, lasts till the youngest is 4?  Why am I not running full-tilt to the mouth of the Cave, eager to frolic outside in high heels?

Because the Cave, in hindsight, is a snuggly place– a safe, uncomplicated nest of love.  Suddenly I’m overwhelmed with Baby Nostalgia.  I indulge in a fantasy about a third child: a mellow, sound-sleeping baby boy.  How my girls would love their little brother!  How boys (I’ve heard) adore their mothers!  This time I would be wiser. I wouldn’t get trapped in the Cave and half-crazed with sleep-deprivation. Maybe it’s not too late to remove the IUD, chart my ovulation, and get pregnant ASAP.

Then I remember the letter I wrote myself on a particularly dark night with a newborn and a toddler.  “Dear Diana, Don’t ever, ever, ever do this again.” I shake off my daydreams and examine the crux of the matter: my youngest is turning 3, and we’re finally going to stop nursing. [Read more →]

Tags: 5 Comments

Advice From the Trenches

August 11th, 2010 by Diana
Respond

C w/helmet on bike

If you’ve ever picked up a magazine at the pediatrician’s office, you know that the glossies are full of parenting tips and advice.

Five Simple Steps to Get Your Baby to Sleep Through the Night!

Top Ten Ways to Raise a Happy Child!

Magazine editors love bullet points, solutions, and sound-bytes.  They know how to play on parental anxieties, consulting “experts” with the latest research, promising to help us with the overwhelming task of parenthood.

But here’s the rub: advice articles may move magazines, but they don’t usually make us feel good. For me, they inevitably inspire feelings of guilt and inadequacy.  My favorite parenting columnist, Joanna Weiss of The Boston Globe, recently observed in her Op-Ed, “Parental Bliss, or Lack Thereof“:

“The Internet and bookstores are loaded with parenting advice, as if childrearing is a set of problems to be solved, instead of a set of experiences, good and bad.”

Summer days with my kids encompass a range of experiences, from the sublime (snuggling in the hammock) to the grotesque (stepping on a huge turd in the kiddie pool).  I’ve never wanted to write an advice column.  Who am I to tell others how to raise their children, when I’m just figuring it out as I go along?  But on a journalistic whim, I decided to poll my friends and neighbors, eschewing parenting experts for real, live, imperfect moms and dads.  It turns out their insights may help us all relax.

“What Tricks of the Trade do you have up your sleeve?”  I asked.

“Movies, candy, bribery…” replied one friend, a Brattleboro father of two.

“Bribery, Benadryl, letting my children sleep in my bed,” laughed Sarah, a Washington D.C. mother of two (ages 2 and 5).  Then she added, “Watch your kids sleeping.  Even after the worst day, it’s impossible not to love them when they’re asleep.”

“Never battle over clothing,” said Leah, maternity nurse and mother of two boys (ages 7 months and 4 years).  “Let them wear what they want to wear, as long as they’re warm enough.  Once Sammy wore his Spiderman tights for two weeks straight.”

“Let your kids get dirty and wet.  You can always clean them up later,” recommended Orly, third-grade teacher and mom of two (ages 2 and 5).

“Read Confessions of a Slacker Mom.  It’s the one book that, philosophically speaking, helped me the most,” advised Andrea, a video producer for The Washington Post and tireless mother of three boys, ages 4, 6, and 8.

“Never read advice books,” countered my friend Amy, a physician in California and mom of two girls, ages 5 and 7.  Amy also told me she’d recently made a parenting resolution:  she’s not going to yell at her kids anymore.  When I expressed dismay at my own loud tactics and admiration for her lofty goal, she said, “Yelling has become the new hitting.  In the moment it feels like life or death.  But what would it mean to actually stop?  I decided I’m not going to let myself get that mad.”  So far, she’s made it three weeks.

“I’m not afraid to tell my kids that I need a break,” said Eileen Parks, librarian and mother of two (ages 7 and 9).  “My kids understand the word FRIED.  I have no guilt about telling them to get lost, so I can lie down and slip into a Mom-Coma for 10 or 15 minutes.  Just enough to dip into some REM and renew.”

I rely on the Mom-Coma myself most afternoons.  I also give myself Time-Outs whenever I feel my temper building.  And instead of pajamas, I dress the girls in clean clothes before bed.  (Sometimes it saves a step in the morning, though my two-year-old usually goes through several clothing changes before breakfast regardless).

Maybe some of these tips will work for you.  Or maybe not.  As one grandmother of nine put it, even after four decades of childrearing,  “How can I give advice?  It’s all so individual.  It depends on the child, the parent, the family.”

I like getting a long-term perspective on parenting, receiving the wisdom of the older generation.  These days, I try to remember one grandfather’s bittersweet words: “Relax and have fun with it.  If I could do it all over, I would have played more and worried less.”

Tags:   · · · No Comments.

Appetite For Destruction

August 4th, 2010 by Diana
Respond

(No, not the rockin Guns n’ Roses album, but the force of nature that is Carmen…)

C in bathing suit (Jules)

Of all the trials and tribulations in my nearly five years of motherhood, I’d never suffered public humiliation until last week.   I have a thick skin– I can handle my toddler unloading in her swim diaper every single time we go to the pool.  I can survive a screaming tantrum on the Co-op floor because I won’t buy a chocolate-chip cookie.  But I’d never known parenting shame before The Children’s Room at the Library.

“You can’t check out these books.  You have a $15 charge on your card,” the librarian said stonily.

Shock must have crossed my face, because she continued.  “The ripped book you returned– The Jungle Book?  That will cost $15.”

“Oh dear.  I’m so, so sorry about the ripping,” I said, deeply embarrassed and regretful that my child had destroyed yet more library property.  “But do I really have to pay $15?  The book was pretty beat-up when we checked it out.”

The librarian appraised me with a cool stare.  “I can lower the fine slightly, but there have been many other ripped books you’ve brought back that we haven’t charged you for.”

At this, I flushed red and tried to sink through the floor.  Instead, I got out the cash, took my guilty, unrepentant toddler by the hand, and slunk away like a criminal.

The librarian’s voice admonished me like a slap on the wrist:  BAD MOTHER!  I felt like I’d been caught shoplifting or smoking pot.  The woman acted like I’d deliberately encouraged my progeny to rip books.  Or maybe I’d just lain on the couch drinking chardonnay while my two-year-old tore out page by page.

In truth, I was probably checking my email.  And Carmen manages to destroy most things very quickly, in the privacy of her own room.  If I were less of a slacker mom, I would monitor her every activity and catch her before she inflicted damage.  Or I would keep all library books in a locked cabinet and ration them, one per day, to be viewed under parental guidance only. [Read more →]

Tags:   · · 1 Comment

Beauty Shop Hotline

July 26th, 2010 by Diana
Respond

It’s ten o’clock on a Saturday night and I’m leaning over the tub, my head coated in brown-green goop.   The henna smells earthy and vegetative, like wet grass.  It stains the white tub with mahogany grit when I wash it out, and makes my hair dry as a husk of corn.

Guess who's hair is natural?

Guess whose hair is natural?

But it’s all worth it.  For $7.99, I can cover my grays, those insidious little markers of aging.

Some women are content to go au naturel, transforming with grace into silver foxes.  I admire their Earth Goddess poise, but my vanity won’t let me abandon my youthful mane just yet.  When it comes to my hair, I’m going to “rage, rage against the dying of the light.”  If this means bimonthly henna treatments, so be it.

Does having kids make you go gray earlier, or is it purely genetic?  “It’s the sleep deprivation,” says one friend, a working mother of three, “It turns your hair white.”

Another friend protests that while parenting may make your body age faster, having kids keeps your mind younger– more playful, imaginative, sharp.  I’m not sure if I believe this theory, because I already lose my glasses and confuse my kids’ names.  But I do know that my child-free friends are, without a doubt, more youthful looking.  They also have better clothes and social lives.

Some science supports the claim that stress (whether child-induced or otherwise) speeds up the hair-graying process.  In a study published in the June, 2009 issue of Cell, researchers found that “genotoxic stress” damages DNA, depleting the specialized “melanocyte stem cells” in the hair follicles that are responsible for producing pigment.  When pigment cells in the follicle gradually die off, the hair strand doesn’t contain as much color, and hence, we get grays.

“It’s all about the hair,” says one dear friend, a 60-year-old knock-out with a yoga body, well-cut clothes, and glossy chestnut mane.  She exudes a confident intelligence that makes heads turn.   I can only hope my hair looks as good as hers in two decades. [Read more →]

Tags:   · · · 1 Comment

Beauty Shop Hotline on VPR

July 26th, 2010 by Diana
Respond

Click HERE to listen to my latest commentary on Vermont Public Radio.  You can read a longer version on the next blog post, too.

Tags:   · · No Comments.

Zoo Story

July 14th, 2010 by Diana
Respond

By the end of the day, I’d lost it completely.  My façade of patience had melted, and I trudged through the hot hordes of Saturday zoo-goers, wielding the black double stroller like a weapon.

Country Girls in the City

Country Girls in the City

But taking the girls to New York City for the weekend was an ambitious plan.  “Only people who aren’t New Yorkers call it New York City,” said one Manhattan friend drily.

We made no pretense of being New Yorkers.  We were country mice, and we were pushing the envelope, traveling beyond our Vermont comfort zone.

For weeks, I’d told the girls about the trip– how we’d drive in and see the bridges and skyscrapers, how we’d visit relatives, play in Central Park, and go to the Bronx Zoo.  I sang “Mama’s Taking Us to the Zoo Tomorrow” as we fantasized about our favorite animals.  To ramp up anticipation, we got online and browsed the Zoo website, watching little movies of baby lion cubs tussling and squirrel monkeys racing vine-to-vine.  Ava wanted to see a zebra, Carmen couldn’t wait for the lions, and I preferred the Big Bears.

I printed out the Zoo map.  I was in my element.  I am, by nature, a planner-tending towards “continuous, compulsive projection into the future,” as spiritual teacher Eckhart Tolle puts it.  My monkey mind leaps one month, one week, one day ahead, rather than staying absorbed in the here and now.

My children, on the other hand, have no need for plans.  They would’ve been content to stay home on my lap and watch the baby lions on the webcam.  Instead, we packed our bags and car snacks and left behind our green world for 48 hours. [Read more →]

Tags:   · · · · 1 Comment

Are You a Morning Person?

July 5th, 2010 by Diana
Respond

I’ve never considered myself a morning person, but motherhood has made me one.  I am now useless after 9 pm, but if I get about six hours of solid sleep, I can wake up energized and eager for projects (provided the sun is shining).

girls in glassesToday is supposedly a holiday, a day for schmoozing and sleeping in.  But after a weekend of swimming, hot dogs, and kid time, I was ready to work.  I was up with the sun at 5:15 and snuck downstairs into the blissful quiet of a sleeping house.  I anticipated writing at my desk over a steaming cup of Chai, then going for a short run before everyone woke up.  What a fantasy…

First I had to feed the dog, give her her medication and take her on a short walk so she didn’t turd in the neighbors’ yard. By the time I let out the chickens and made my Chai, it was already close to 6 am.  I checked my email, opened my notebook, and thought about Sylvia Plath, her poem that starts “Love set you going like a fat gold watch.”  What poem was that?  Maybe it was “Morning Song,” the first poem in Ariel?

I could Google it or be old-school and search for my actual copy of the book, a First Edition from England, my mother’s from 1965.  The pages smell old and sweet and slightly musty, like a dusty bookshop.  They make me want to write.  I went into the dim front hall to my big poetry bookcase, which is full of literature from my days at Oxford and my MFA program.  I found everything in shambles, half the books stuffed in upside down and sideways.  C. had obviously been there and cleared the shelves, then someone else had cleaned up after her.

Of course I needed to re-organize things then and there.  I never found Ariel, because the pitter-patter of little feet interrupted my quest.  6 am and C. was awake, even though she’d refused to go to bed before 9 pm.  Bleary-eyed and clutching her Ducky, she was overtired and supremely grumpy.  What happened to my private writing time? What happened to toddlers needing at least 11 hours of sleep per night?  I tried to wrap her in blankets on the couch so I could write for a few minutes.  No luck.

So i loaded her in the stroller, laced up my shoes, grabbed a yogurt container, and jogged up the hill to pick black raspberries and feed carrots to the horses. A fun outing, and some exercise too.  Forget projects.  It’s glorious to live in Vermont in July!

Tags:   · · No Comments.