The little girl that stole my heart…

For the longest time I wanted to start a blog. Not because I wanted to become famous (good thing, right?) or discovered, but, because I wanted a place to transcribe my thoughts and feelings. I have a lot of those. On a daily basis. Anyone who is close to me, knows this to be true.

I had a hard time getting started though. It took me about nine months to come up with a name for my blog (appropriately) and then I hit a wall of writer’s block. Oh the irony. Finally, I had a place to record all of these aforementioned thoughts and feelings but couldn’t get started.

And then one night, thanks to this wonderful little girl, the block melted away and the words and tears flowed with what turned out to be my first real post. I wish I never had the overwhelming need to write that post. I truly wish that Maddie was still here.

Today would have been Maddie’s second birthday. On her first birthday, she ate cream puffs. On what would have been her second birthday, today, her parents, family, and Moms everywhere are eating cream puffs. And wearing purple.

Maddie – you have changed the lives of so many. Your contagious smile and intoxicating eyes are forever burned into the hearts and souls of many Moms like myself. You’ve made us laugh. You’ve made us smile. You’ve made us stop and appreciate the moments with our little ones.  You’ve made us better mothers.

Thank you for being you and thanks to your Mommy and Daddy for sharing you with all of us.  

We will never forget you.  Happy 2nd birthday, sweet girl.

The boy at the salon…

Last weekend I headed in for a long overdue mani/pedi. When I say long overdue, I mean, really overdue. The remnants of pedicures past had become quite the embarassment and I got tired of wearing boots on 70 degree days.

Admittedly, I find it hard to justify this luxury and expense sometimes, especially when it comes to taking time spent away from my two-year-old, but, let’s face it, Moms need time to themselves too.

So, off I went to the salon for a little quiet time and luxuriating. I love my regular nail salon. It’s not particularly fancy but the Vietnamese women who own and run it couldn’t be lovelier and they have a great selection of trashy magazines. Not to mention, the price is right.

Sunday afternoon is usually when I try to go as it’s a pretty quiet time. The single twenty somethings who invade the nail salons on Friday evenings and Saturday mornings prior to their evenings out at the bars are usually sleeping off their hangovers so I don’t have to be subjected to cell phone conversations with “rehashes” of the night before or otherwise loud plan-making. 

This particular Sunday was no exception. It was pretty quiet with only one other patron getting serviced. I carefully selected my magazines and my polish and got ready for my pampering. My pedicurist began to fill up the tub for my foot soak as I eased back into my chair and began to catch up on the latest celebrity gossip.

About this time, a Mom walked in with her seven-year-old son inquiring about  a possible pedicure. Not wanting to lose a customer, they said that if she could just sit tight for a few minutes that they would be able to work  her in. I thought it was interesting that anyone would be so desperate for a  pedicure that they would actually bring their son with them. I also noticed that he didn’t have anything with him to entertain himself and I wondered how he would possibly have the patience to wait for his mother. At one point while they waited for an available pedicurist, the mother said “I can always come back on Tuesday if you don’t have time for me.” But, they assured her that it would be just another moment and that she should wait.

Which she did. During this time there was a lot of conversation between the mother and her son. She asked him what color she should select and I watched as he climbed onto a wheeled stool to fully examine the color choices and I winced when it slipped and he almost fell to the ground.

A few minutes later he started bouncing up and down and crossing his legs when the mother asked “Do you have to go to the bathroom?” He said that he did and she continued with “There’s a bathroom in the back. Go ahead. I don’t want you peeing on the floor.” With that she turned to the nail technicians and added “because he would.” I couldn’t really believe that a seven-year-old boy would pee on the floor of a nail salon but what do I know? My kid is still in diapers.  The mother continued  addressing the boy with “We were home all day. Why didn’t you go at home?” These seemed like reasonable questions and ones that I can almost imagine myself asking one day even if I couldn’t imagine bringing my son to a nail salon.

A few minutes later and the Mom with her polishes selected, begins her pedicure process with the foot tub soak. I, having been distracted by the interactions, get back to my reading. Only for a minute though as suddenly, the boy begins calling for his mother from the back of the salon. She says “I can’t come right now” with obvious frustration. She turns to the nail technician and says “He went to the bathroom, right?” The technician smiles and says “Yes.” No one really knows of course since we’re all out in the front of the salon. Again, the boy yells for his mother and she heaves heavy sighs obviously feeling very annoyed and says “I don’t know what to do.”  Moments later, the calls for Mom turn to tearful bellows and it’s clear that something has gone on. We all exchange glances waiting to see what the mother will do and finally, she extracts her feet from her warm foot soak and heads to the back of the salon. It’s quiet for a few moments when she suddenly emerges extremely harried saying that he had an “accident” and grabs a few square napkins before she disappears again. 

After about five minutes, she and the boy both appear. She with napkins that appear to be covered in melted chocolate, and he, looking very embarrassed and slowly backing out of the salon so the patrons (myself and the other client) couldn’t see his back. The mother says “I’m sorry but I’ll have to come back on Tuesday” and she whisks herself and her son out of the salon. We all watch as they step outside and as the boy turns to walk toward home with his mother we see that the back of his shorts are covered in what we can only assume is feces.

It is also about this time that a terrible smell begins to waft through the salon and the salon owner, who is busy working on my polish, says something to the other girls in Vietnamese and they all scurry to the back of the salon to check out the scene. I hear one of them scream and more words exchanged in Vietnamese and then mops and buckets start coming out. Apparently, it was quite a mess back there. The woman working on my nails stopped her polishing and grabbed a bottle of citrus spray to help “clear the air” of the noxious fumes. After all, this is her place of business. She can’t afford to have a salon that smells like a diaper pail.

At this point, I cannot contain myself and start laughing. The young women who had taken on the unpleasant task of cleaning up the mess emerged with plastic bags full of toxic rags and at this point they’re all laughing too. The salon owner turns to me and says “A seven-year-old is too old for that.” It seemed she was right and as a mother herself I figured she would know. I trust (and hope) that by the time my kid is in first grade that she will take advantage of a nearby bathroom and not wait too long.

It struck me though — particularly that the Mom who rushed out with her son apologized for skipping out on her nail appointment but not for wreaking havoc in the salon’s bathroom. Nor did she mention on her way out “By the way, he made a bit of a mess back there. I’m so sorry.” Or, what I would expect which is to help them clean up her son’s accident!

I wondered if she would actually show up on Tuesday for an appointment, or if she’d ever show her face in that salon again. Something told me that she actually would.

By this point, my nails were done and I realized I never really had a chance to catch up on the gossip magazines  in the midst of all the drama. It was kind of disappointing since I knew it would be at least another 6 weeks before I returned for my next indulgence but I left at least feeling grateful that my child was at home, diaper protected, and knowing that I wouldn’t have to come back to the nail salon on Tuesday.

Saying goodbye…

Three weeks ago my grandmother passed away. She was my paternal grandmother and the last grandparent in my family to die. She was 88 years old.

By all accounts, she lived a long and full life. She was married to my grandfather for more than 50 years, had two sons, two grandchildren, and even lived to meet and know three great grandchildren.

Her life was hard though…she had a lot of setbacks, physical and emotional. But, she also had the determination and the drive to keep moving forward. She spent little time with regret. This after a difficult childhood (her mother, my great grandmother escaped the Holocaust) growing up in Brooklyn and dealing with anti-semitism, suffering three miscarriages later in life, a stillborn baby (the daughter she always wanted), a near-death car accident where both she and my grandfather were nearly killed by a drunk driver and a long recovery after the fact,  a diagnosis and ultimate recovery from breast cancer, a long several years of taking care of my grandfather as he slipped away with dementia and Parkinson’s and ultimately death, and finally, her own diagnosis with macular degeneration and loss of sight gradually over the last several years.

One would think, expect, and even understand how she might have gotten a bit crabby after facing so many challenges, but her courage and determination were like nothing I’ve ever seen. After my grandfather passed away and her sight began to go, she relocated to an assisted living facility up in the Sierras to be near her two sons. It was a big adjustment for her – dealing with the grief of losing my grandfather and moving away from her home and community in Southern California. She talked about my grandfather a lot but she also began to create another community for herself almost instantly. She’d always been an avid exerciser and meditator and before long, she was leading exercise classes and private meditations, encouraging all of the other “old folk” to get off their butts and get moving. She also began to take tai chi and was on the resident board of her facility.

None of this should have been a surprise to me. I can vividly recall my grandma coming to visit when I was growing up on the East Coast. She was not like other grandmothers. She would be out in the street with me and my little friends playing jump rope. And, when we were done with that, she would then give us all hand massages. She had the strongest hands I ever felt – even up to the very end.

The last eight years have really been a gift as for the first time in my life, I’ve lived close enough to my grandmother to see her more often.  Instead of visits every couple of years, we started seeing each other for every holiday and shared many summer dinners and visits. When I got engaged, finally, she was SO happy to be a part of my wedding. And, when she suddenly went into the hospital for a kidney infection two days before my wedding, she told every doctor and nurse at that hospital that she would be dancing at her granddaughter’s wedding and had NO intention of staying. As usual, her determination won, and she not only made it to my wedding, but, stuck by her promise to dance the night away. She was 83.  I can still see her smiling tear-stained face yelling Mazel Tov as my now husband and I exchanged our final vows.

Soon thereafter, I suffered miscarriages of my own and my grandmother was always quick to say that although it wasn’t meant to be, that she knew I’d have a child someday. She was right. Two years after that, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. I so wanted to honor my grandmother by giving our daughter Ellie part of her name but that wasn’t considered appropriate, given that my grandmother was still living. It makes me sad now that she’s gone not to have had that chance.

I remember how excited I was for my grandmother to meet my daughter for the first time–to introduce her to her great-grandaughter. What a wonderful moment. And, after each visit, even though it was hard for my grandmother to see I always sent her picture after picture so she could see how Ellie was growing and changing. I know it brought her so much joy and I loved for Ellie to have a chance to get to know this woman who had been a part of my life for so long.

The last couple of years had been hard for my grandmother. Between her broken hip, polycystic kidney disease, and congenital heart failure, she found herself finally having to slow down. And, she didn’t care for that one bit. Her dinner parties became fewer, her cane was traded in for a walker, she started to miss her tai chi classes , her vision became darker, and slowly but surely she started to lose her zest for life.

The last year in particular was very rough. She spent more time being ill than not and had at least five emergency visits to the hospital. Incredibly, she’d rebound after nearly every one and we’d find her at our family dinner table once again, flexing her sharp wit, and always dressed impeccably.

This all changed a few months ago. Her bouts of heart failure escalated and a medical procedure that could have caused her relief, ended up weakening her.  She didn’t really have the energy to travel to my parents’ house anymore so on one of our last visits up there, Ellie, Paul and I made it a point to go visit her. Ellie was always so happy to see her “Gigi” and I know it made my grandmother happy too to spend time with her girls.

Our last real visit in August was a lovely one. In typical Sierra fashion, it was a warm summer day dressed with a late afternoon breeze. My grandmother and I sat together on a swing while Ellie frolicked in the grass in front of us. I don’t remember specifically what we talked about but I remember looking at my grandmother and noticing how frail she was starting to look . I recall that for many moments, we just slowly swung, taking in the beauty of the day and listening to Ellie’s squeals of joy anoint the air around us.

The next time I saw my grandmother she was in the ICU – her last time in the hospital. God how she hated the hospital. My mother and I visited and I recall when I first saw her how gaunt she looked. Honestly, part of me secretly wondered if she was already dead. She was peacefully sleeping, finally having experienced some comfort with the help of medical assistance. I felt funny about waking her up but my Mom insisted. I’m glad she did. She was only awake for a few minutes but it was long enough for me to lean close to her and look in her still beautiful sparkling blue eyes, give her a kiss on the forehead, and tell her that I loved her. A smile crept across her face only seconds before she was asleep again.

That was the last time I saw her.

When my mother called to let me know that my grandmother had finally returned home from the hospital, I felt relief. But inside, I knew that she probably couldn’t rebound this time — as much as I had hoped.

Two days later I got another call from my mother to let me know that my grandmother had passed away peacefully in the night– on Rosh Hoshanah. As a woman whose Judaism was so important to her, a part of her, that seemed fitting to me.

This past weekend, I attended a memorial/celebration of life for her. My brother and I made the trek up to the Sierras for the day, enjoying some rare sibling bonding time and uncommon quiet in a car that was free of toddlers and babies. I had planned to make some notes for the service on the car ride up knowing that I was expected to speak but I just couldn’t bring myself to make an outline or create bullet points to talk about someone I love. I wasn’t so much worried that I wouldn’t know what to say but more that I would collapse into a sobbing mess while I was saying it.

I was so touched during the service by the words of family and strangers (at least to me) who had been so deeply touched by my grandmother, who had been so uplifted by her buoyant spirit, and felt such a deep loss with her passing. With my grandmother gone, her assisted living facility seemed so lifeless. I noticed out of the corner of my eye, an elderly woman bawling on and off throughout the service. I tried to avoid her eye as much as possible so as not to lose it myself but also felt so drawn to her despair. After the service I went up to her to snag a tissue (she had an entire box sitting on her walker) and asked her if I could give her a hug. She began to cry again and at this point we both were sobbing. When I pulled away from her, she asked if she could wipe my tears away. I couldn’t help but think that as a woman with no children and grandchildren that that was a very maternal thing to do.

I asked her if she had been close friends with my grandmother as I’d never seen her before and she said that no, she hadn’t. But, she said that my grandmother had the most amazing spirit that uplifted everyone around her and how much she’d miss that.

She did. And, so, when my turn came to get up and say a few words about my grandmother, instead of collapsing into the sobbing mess I anticipated, I held steady and strong, sharing a few stories and vowing to honor her memory by living a better life myself–remembering to make time for play even when there’s a lot of work to do, remembering that if given the choice to work or dance, to always choose dancing, and to always live life with gusto and zest. I know that’s what my grandmother would want.

Goodbye dear grandmother. I’ll miss you more than you’ll never know.

Mother's Day 2009

Native American Prayer

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there I do not sleep

I am a thousand winds that blow

I am a diamond’s glint on snow

I am the gentle autumn’s rain

I am sunlight on ripened grain.

When you awaken in the mornings hush

I am the sweet uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

So do not stand at my grave and cry

I am not there…I did not die.

Discretion…

It’s been a month since my last blog post. I never intended for so much time to pass by. But, life stepped in and dumped some big changes on me and since then I’ve been trying to figure out how to write about them with discretion. It’s been such a struggle that I’ve even had some regrets about not creating an anonymous blog to start with.  It’s a terrible feeling to think that you can’t be completely open and transparent on your blog – a place that you own and created for the sole purpose of sharing your experiences. 

But, discretion is important in my world. Or, should I say to me.  So, backing up a few weeks…

After a long, mostly relaxing Labor Day weekend, I returned to the office to receive some big news. By most accounts the news was good. I had just been promoted to a pretty big position within my company. Actually, it was more than pretty big. It was freakin’ huge. My immediate reaction was one of shock. If you worked at my company, or frankly, any publishing company, you’d know that promotions are hard to come by. And, generally speaking, promotions are projected to be received with excitement.  And, actually, there was a lot of excitement — emails flooded my in-box, passersby offered their congratulations, and I received many personal visits from well wishers. And, yet, amidst all of the excitement, I found myself feeling grateful but grim.

Please don’t misunderstand. Amidst the shock, there was excitement — a feeling of deep accomplishment after working toward this for a long time. But, you see, this wasn’t exactly the direction I imagined my life taking – at this point in time. I don’t know why I say that, really, since starting from when I was 5 years old, I imagined myself being some big corporate executive living in some fancy schmancy New York apartment. Not that I am anywhere near being a big corporate executive nor do I think the average publishing salary, even a decent one, could ever buy you much of anything in New York. But, I digress.

When I had those dreams, I didn’t factor in that I wouldn’t actually get married until I was in my late 30s. And, I certaintly didn’t imagine I’d become a Mom in my early 40s.  These events kind of changed things for me.

So, recent events and developments have come at an interesting time for me – a time when I’ve been desperately trying to achieve some balance in my life; a time when I’d finally maybe figured out how to squeeze in a bit of exercise, and a time when I hoped I could figure out how to spend more quality time with my daughter.

My new responsibilities are tremendous and currently, there aren’t final solutions for what’s going to happen to my old job, which I may not have mentioned, I’m still reponsible for. I felt like I was doing the job of two people before. I’m not sure I could put a number on it now. It just feels incredibly overwhelming, at times exciting, and mostly preoccupying. At this moment, it feels as if balance will elude me forever.

I’m really hoping this book will help me sort some of this out (one of the perks of working in publishing is getting free books!):

New York Times bestsellers have all the answers, right? And, this book promises big. It promises happiness — for all working moms–whether you’re the CEO of a Fortune 500 company or manager of your local McDonald’s.  All you need are some good tools rooted in positive psychology.

Sign me up!

To be continued…

The elephant in the…crib?

There’s been a lot of talk about elephants as of late. No, we’re not watching a lot of Animal Planet nor have we been to the zoo. It started with a visit my two-year-old, Ellie,  made to this restaurant with her grandparents back in July.  It’s a cool place, for sure, but, when you’re a child who is somewhat sensitive to sudden loud noises, a 10 ft.-high mechanically-operated animal that spontaneously erupts into boisterous behavior, can be a bit daunting. There are several of them at this restaurant but the elephant is what really scared her.

We talked a LOT about the elephant after that visit.  Mostly, she just had a lot of questions about the elephant. She wanted to know where it was and what it was doing at all times. We gave her answers the best we could.

Then a weird thing happened…on our way back from the East Coast, where we’d spent a week visiting family, Ellie’s elephant awareness heightened. All of a sudden, elephants were the main topic of conversation and they were making appearances — beginning with our Jet blue flight.  Apparently, the elephant made it on to the plane somehow. There were a LOT of elephants on the flight–out the window, on the television screen, even in the row in front of us.

Upon our return home, she seemed OK for a few days and then with little warning, one night, guess who made an appearance in Ellie’s crib? Yes, indeed. Now there were elephants IN her crib. She was TERRIFIED.  Our perfect little sleeper who LOVED her crib was suddenly horribly afraid to be in her crib. And so began the sleeping with Mommy and Daddy either in our bed or on the couch until she was deep enough asleep for a transfer.

I figured we just needed to suck it up.  We haven’t had a problem putting Ellie down, basically since we sleep trained her. The jig was bound to be up eventually. Our turn had come to be the family that never sleeps – or that sleeps together.  And so when Ellie woke up at 2:15am crying, into our bed she came with all of her fidgety-ness. Soon after she fell back asleep, she’d assume her favorite horizontal sleeping position, pushing her Mommy and Daddy to the very end of the bed.  It was tough. But, we also didn’t want her feeling afraid.

A few days in, and weary from sleep deprivation, I asked for help. Being a full-time working Mom, I don’t have a handy network of Mom friends that I feel comfortable enough to call so I took advantage of the wonderful world of technology and posted a query in an online forum that immediately went out to a ton of Moms in my geographical area. Soon thereafter, I had 17 responses to sift through. The advice ranged from getting “elephant spray” and other magic potions to “rid the elephant” from my daughter’s crib, to, talking with my daughter about the elephant and finding out what scared her, to getting books on elephants and showing her how they have families too, and several suggestions that maybe it was time for the big girl bed. Some also posed that the elephant was really a metaphor for severe anxiety and finally, one Mom suggested that perhaps something bad had happened during our East Coast trip since the behavior intensified upon our return.

I so appreciated all of the responses and immediately took to using “elephant spray” and helping my toddler to address the elephant directly. With that said, I was also even more anxious considering that something terrible could have taken place on our family trip!

After another couple of terror-filled nights, desperation set in and I called my own Mom to see what counsel she could offer. My Mom has always been one to offer helpful advice but I hesitate to ask for it sometimes, especially if I’m feeling vulnerable, because, let’s face it, asking your Mom for advice, often turns into a golden opportunity for them to point out what you’re doing wrong.  I don’t even know if that’s intentional. Maybe they’re rusty from not being needed all the time or maybe it’s payback for never asking. Not sure. I just know that Moms can’t help themselves sometimes.

I explained to her the elephant situation and even that it started after she and my Dad took Ellie to the aforementioned restaurant. She sort of shrugged that off and immediately launched into her convincing analysis:

“The elephant is a metaphor. It’s not really about the elephant. It’s about her fears. If you think about it, you guys went away for the first time, leaving her for 5 days back in June, and then she started Preschool shortly thereafter. Then she went on the trip with you. It’s all too much for her! I also think she absolutely is ready for potty training and a big girl bed.”

Head explodes.

But then she goes on to offer a very helpful suggestion: “ If I were you, I would start asking her open-ended questions to try and get at the heart of what she is afraid of. “

If it weren’t for that last bit of very good advice, I may have decided to turn in my parenting license right on the spot feeling like I had permanently injured my daughter with abandonement by going away and stunting her development by still having her in diapers.  Agreeing that this made a lot of sense, I decided that I was going to talk with my toddler, help her address her fears and then help her get through them. Yes, I could do this. I could ask questions.

And thus began the queries:

Me: “Ellie. I’d like to talk with you.” Ellie comes over. I continue. “What scares you?”

Ellie: “The elephant.”

Me: “Where do you see the elephant?”

Ellie: “With Nana and Papa.” She continues “The elephant no hurt you.”

Me: “No, honey. The elephant won’t hurt you.”

Ellie: “The elephant is sleeping.”

Me: “Yes, the elephant is sleeping.”  Of course I have no damn idea if the elephant is sleeping. It’s probably not, actually. It’s probably very much awake taunting other children. But, something told me that knowing this PROBABLY wouldn’t make her feel any better.

I then decided that we needed an “elephant action plan.” Something that would make her feel empowered to get rid of the elephant herself. We discussed that whenever she saw an elephant — and they seemed to turn up in the most unexpected places — that she would just tell the elephant to “Go away!”  This actually worked quite well – gave her a sense of authority. Whenever she said that she saw an elephant, I’d remind her of the “elephant action plan” and she’d say: “Elephant, go away!”  And then she’d turn to me and smile.  Yes, she was empowered!  This actually seemed to be working.

Nonetheless, the evening crib battle continued. And so did my questioning:

Me: “Ellie – what scares you?”

Ellie: “The elephant.”

Me:  “Where do you see an elephant?”

Ellie: “With Nana and Papa.”

Me: “Is school scary?”

Ellie: “No.”

Me: “Is Elmo scary?”

Ellie: “No. The elephant is scary.”

After several days of this line of questioning and putting the “elephant action plan” into effect and more sleepless nights on the couch, I decided that the real culprit WAS the scary elephant she had seen with Nana and Papa. Not some hidden trauma that we weren’t privy to. Just a simple mechanical elephant.

If you’re paying attention, you can probably see the irony in all of this.

In any case, feeling pretty certain that the “elephant action plan” was working, I decided that Mommy and Daddy needed to get control again as toddler was clearly not traumatized anymore and seemed to be hip to the notion that said elephant fear was definitely helping to keep her out of the crib.

And so the other night, we put her into the crib — protests and all — and guess what? After only a few minutes of crying she was sound asleep. The elephant jig was up and she knew it.

We haven’t talked too much about the elephant since. Oh, and she did use her potty for the first time this week as well. So, maybe Mom wasn’t all wrong.

Bamm-Bamm lives…

I realize that admitting I was a big fan of the Flintstones growing up, probably dates me a bit. I can deal with that. But, can we at least say that I was very very young when I watched. No, really, I was. For those of you deprived of this fantastic show, here is a brief overview:

 The Flintstones is set in the town of Bedrock in the Stone Age era. The show is an allegory to American society of the mid-20th century; in the Flintstones’ fantasy version of the past, dinosaurs, saber-toothed tigers, woolly mammoths,  and other long extinct animals co-exist with barefoot cavemen, who use technology very similar to that of the mid-20th century, although made entirely from pre-industrial materials and largely powered through the use of various animals. The characters drive cars made out of stone or wood and animal skins and powered by foot.

 Admit it, you’re DIEING to rush out and get the DVDs.

Anyhow, I’m assuming that most of you are familiar with the Flintstones, so I won’t go through the painstaking process of explaining to you who Bamm-Bamm Rubble was. Let’s just briefly say that he was the abnormally strong adopted son of Betty and Barney Rubble and would frequently be seen screaming “Bamm-Bamm” “Bamm-Bamm” while simultaneously swinging his toddler-sized club. Oh, yes, he was a charmer. I’m honestly not sure what Pebbles saw in him.

In any case, I always thought that Bamm-Bamm was a made-up character based on some clever animator’s idea. But, guess what, he lives! I know because I saw him first hand.

During our recent whirlwind tour of the East Coast, we decided to lay our weary heads (and suitcases) at a friend of my husband’s for a night. From here forward we’ll refer to them as D and M (for Daddy and Mommy). Although I wasn’t thrilled about making yet another stop for just one night, given that D is such an old friend of my husband’s I acquiesced. It also seemed to be a potentially good idea as they have two kids ages 5 and 2 and I thought that I should, at the very least, think about my daughter. How fun for her to have even MORE kids to play with? She’d already had so much fun with her cousins.

D&M live in New York State in a picturesque town. The kind you want to paint but don’t get good cell phone reception in. Upon arriving at their abode, we pulled up their long driveway, and I see a cute curly-headed toddler standing inside the door with a huge smile on his face. It was endearing, really. We soon made our way inside where we also met the five-year-old (I say “met” as we haven’t seen him in years) and waited for D (who works in Manhattan) to return from work. Shortly after making ourselves comfortable, the dynamic duo sprung into action– leaping from tall heights and moving objects. My first thought was “Boys will be boys.” But, shortly into the visit, I realized that something was up. The two-year-old seemed a bit aggressive. He was terrible with sharing and grabbed every toy that Ellie wanted to play with out of her hands. And, he was strong. Like, not normally strong.

Ellie soon thereafter discovered one of those cute “ride-on” cars in their living room. Not UNLIKE a Flintstone mobile. You climb in, manually close the door, and then move the car with your feet. A toddler’s dream, really. She was thoroughly enjoying herself, minding her own business, and looking very cute with her polo dress and pigtails and wide smile as she “rode” around the room. And, that’s when HE made his appearance.

The two-year old, who I’ll fondly refer to as Bamm-Bamm from here on out went full steam ahead toward Ellie, swung OPEN the door of the Flintstone mobile, grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, pulled her OUT of the car, and then threw her onto her back and head on the hardwood floor. It was like something out of the Sopranos. “Bamm-Bamm!” “Bamm-Bamm!”

To be fair to his mother, she did immediately go over to him and tell him that that wasn’t right and put him in a time-out on the couch. Now, I’m not one to judge other people’s parenting styles. I mean, it’s  not like I know what the hell I’m doing half the time. But, my kid does that and they’re getting a FIRM reprimand and time out in ANOTHER room away from everyone. And, the voice is being RAISED. They’re not getting a “suggested” time out that involves me coddling them on the couch under a blanket. I swear I even think she slipped him a boob.

Once we all recovered from the incident – Ellie had stopped crying, Bamm-Bamm was out of his time out– the kids started playing again. Ellie once again was playing by herself, this time on the couch with a doll. I was pleased to see how quickly she recovered. And, then, not actually believing what I was seeing, Bamm-Bamm heads straight for her with epic speed and with all his might grabs the front cradle of her hair and pulls as hard as he can. “Bamm-Bamm!” “Bamm-Bamm!”

Now I’m freakin’ pissed. To say the least.  Once again, Bamm-Bamm gets a reprimand. Once again, in a soft quiet “you really shouldn’t do that honey” kind of a way. Then Bamm-Bamm’s Mommy turns to Ellie and says, “Ellie, if Bamm-Bamm pulls your hair again, you just say, Bamm-Bamm, I don’t like that. Please don’t do that.”

Ok,  now while I appreciate where she’s going with this, these kids are TWO!  Ellie can’t handle a brute like this. Nor should she have to.

At this point I knew this whole visit was a bad idea but also knew I had to  accept that we couldn’t leave and would just have to make it through the night and then bolt early in the morning.

Fortunately, Bamm-Bamm’s Daddy, or D, came home soon thereafter and things calmed down a bit. That is, if you consider a two-year old scaling built-in cabinets trying to retrieve a hard-to-reach boxed milk and then falling on his bum while his Mom laughs calming down. I more mean that at least Bamm-Bamm left Ellie alone for a bit.

It became pretty clear to us over the course of the night, that D&M were just beaten down. The kids don’t really go to sleep well, they don’t stay asleep well, and they get up early. They don’t really have any boundaries, and were clearly running the household.

 The next morning (and suffice it to say, it was a loooong night with not much sleep) we got up and went in to give the kids breakfast. Soon after they were fed, the games were to begin again. Ellie would start screaming from another room and I would rush in and say “What’s wrong? What happened?” And, she’d look at me through tears and say “Bamm-Bamm!” “Bamm-Bamm!”. I didn’t really know what he was doing and fortunately didn’t see any blood so figured there wasn’t any long-lasting damage, but, then immediately thereafter, right in front of me, I’d see him go right up to her and push her HARD in the chest. At this point, I had to start stepping in. And, so, did PB (As a refresher, PB is my husband). Someone had to. Bamm-Bamm looked at us kind of surprised, amused, not sure. He didn’t seem to process what we were saying. Firm discipline? Huh?

About then, I started hearing that scary voice from that old Poltergeist movie – GET OUT. I immediately started to pack up while PB took a shower. The kids were continuing to “play” in the family room and then once again, screaming and crying coming from Ellie. I rush downstairs and what do I find?  Bamm-Bamm had gotten into PB’s duffel bag, taken out his tennis racket, UNZIPPED the case, took the racket out and was hitting Ellie with it. (He’s probably thinking – finally, a REAL club. After all, cave boys need clubs.)

It is about this time that my head nearly pops off and I begin to think about long term damage – about all the money I am going to need to fund my two-year-old’s therapy to recover from post-traumatic stress syndrome. I’m also thinking, what kind of mother am I to subject my child to such abuse! My heart is pounding and I’m fully engaged in the fight or flight mode as I furiously tell PB that we need to get out of there.

You’re probably thinking that this is the last of it, right? It must be. Well, sort of. There was one final incident of Ellie falling down the stairs that oh, I don’t know, probably took about 10 years off of my life and added about 15 more gray hairs. And, although, Bamm-Bamm wasn’t directly indicated in the fall, you can be SURE that he was right there on the stairs with her, nearby, taunting, as only Bamm-Bamm can.  His Mommy seemed concerned about Ellie falling, of course, and responded with “Did he push her?” It was a fair question and an easy assumption. Once we assured her that he didn’t, she said “Oh, do you not have stairs in your house?” Well, um, no maam we don’t, but, Ellie has been going up and downstairs on her own for a long time just fine. She’s just not used to a little cave boy breathing down her neck, screaming Bamm-Bamm and swinging a club at her. Forgive me if she’s feeling a little uncoordinated this morning. (Excuse me for sounding so snarky but you know how protective a lioness can get over her young.)

We finally made it out of there, wheels screeching down the road swearing never to return.

Truthfully, we feel for Bamm-Bamm. After all, he’s only two. He needs to be shown the ropes. He needs to learn boundaries. He needs to learn how to navigate social situations with his peers. And, on some level, I even feel for his parents. Parenting is a hard gig. Harder than I ever imagined. I wish them the best because they’ve got quite a road ahead of them.

For me, I think I’ll  just stick to television Bamm-Bamm. He seems to be a lot safer.

He looks so innocent here too, doesn't he?

 

*Photo is courtesy of  i-love-cartoons.com.

Vacation…

This past week I returned from a week long trip to the East Coast or as I like to call it, the Tour de Tri-England (that’s Tri-State and New England combined) with the husband and toddler.  We traveled to three states and five cities. Rather than regaling you with all of the details of the trip, for fear of you falling face first into your keyboard, I thought I would just recall some of the highlights:

Lake house–What could be better than spending a few days at a beautiful home situated right on a lake in Massachusetts? Maybe taking a ride in a boat on said lake. Or, spending long overdue time with your three favorite nieces and brother and sister-in-law. Visiting them and their lake house was the primary reason for the whirlwind tour and it was even more beautiful than imagined.

Concert in Great Barrington–I still can’t believe I made it all the way to Great Barrington but never got to Tanglewood. Before you think me terribly lame, consider an outdoor concert featuring this guy that I DID attend.  Oh, the things we do to put a smile on our children’s faces. He was wonderful and we’re all still singing his songs.

Seeing New England again — It has been so many years since I’ve had the pleasure of seeing beautiful New England. As a child growing up in New Jersey, my family vacationed yearly in New Hampshire and as a young adult, I made it a point to get up to Vermont every summer. What a treat to experience all of this beauty again.

Late-night conversations — I loved staying up late to chat with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law and husband in the beautiful living room that opened up to the lake. Even though you couldn’t see the lake at night, it’s serenity was felt. I still have a great picture in my mind of my brother-in-law completely crashing in his chair awakening only briefly and during strategic moments of the conversation to add his two cents. My sister-in-law and I probably could have chatted for several more hours if exhaustion wasn’t banging on our doors after midnight. We even outlasted the teenagers. How often does that happen?

The nieces — I truly have the best nieces in the whole world. When I first met them – shortly after my husband and I began dating – they were 7, 9, and 11. The youngest was still little enough that she’d give you those wonderful full body hugs and ask you to read stories with her. She’s now 14 and in the throes of  her teens.  The other two girls are 16 and 18– the middle starting to drive independently and the oldest about to head off to college. Even though there are many years between myself and them, we have a fabulous time together. Whether it’s playing games, chatting, or just being, it’s so comfortable and easy. It makes me so sad everytime I have to say goodbye to them. They don’t know this, but, they were instrumental in my deciding to have my own children. Whatever fence I had been sitting on for way too long, being with them made me realize just how fabulous having children could be.

Ellie’s adventure — I still can’t get over how wonderful Ellie was on this trip. She embraced each and every new adventure with enthusiasm and joy. We moved 5 times in 7 days and she went from cribs to makeshift beds all in unfamiliar surroundings and slept soundly every night. She also spent many hours in the car with us traversing from New York to Connecticut to Massachusetts – and even an unplanned “shortcut” through the Bronx. She never complained. It was also so gratifying to see her embrace all of her extended family — aunts, uncles, and tons of cousins–six to be exact–five of whom are girls. It never gets old seeing your child having such a good time, testing out her independence, and welcoming new situations and people.

There were, of course, many other great times sandwiched in there too but as promised, I’m not gong to go into all of them. With that said, the realist in me feels compelled to mention some of the not so perfect elements of traveling like a vagabond with a toddler. Actually, some of these have nothing to do with the latter two items.

Weather–Given that it didn’t rain once when we were back East – a record the way things have been going this summer – I should have weather as a higlight. But, I can’t help it. I am a wimp when it comes to hot, steamy and sticky. Having been gone from the East Coast for many years now, it’s easy to glorify summers of past when you’re wearing a coat on a foggy July day in San Francisco, but, being there for a week made me realize how much I don’t really miss hot, sticky, and humid.

Mosquitos – Don’t get me wrong, we HAVE mosquitos in San Francisco. Living so close to water, it would be impossible to escape this. But, they’re different here. They’re about 10 times as big –which makes them easier to spot–and 10 times as slow–which makes them easier to catch. Basically, you can easily remove them before they get to you. These East Coast mosquitos are shifty little buggers. They’re so small and insidious that you can’t even FEEL them biting you. Only until a nice welt surfaces do you realize you’ve been taken.

Plane ride - Ellie did fabulously on the plane on the way out. To give the parents (read: me) some credit, we were armed from head to toe with snacks, books, crayons, Play-doh, drink, and portable DVD player (thanks to Daddy),  all which helped tremendously. The way back was a bit more challenging as she was way off of her schedule by then, tired,  and we were on the plane for six hours. Those last two hours and twenty minutes I started to lose the will to live.  Ellie  jumped up and down on the seats and onto Mommy and Daddy, tried to scale the back of the middle seat to climb into the row behind us, and continually put the arm rest up and down, smacking my arm and leg each time. I seriously had bruises by the end of the flight. Worth it, of course, for the time spent away but challenging nonetheless.  I actually really like traveling with my kid but it’s easy to forget how much you enjoy the travel once you’re four hours into a plane ride with a toddler.

Sleep, or lack thereof — I had a terrible time sleeping on this trip. Part of it had to do with a large amount of stress I had been experiencing before I left, another part had to do with a certain person’s snoring (and I’m not talking about Ellie) and the third part had something to do with sleeping in four different beds in seven days — some a bit too small. My favorite (read: sarcasm) was the full-sized bed with the antique bed frame that creaked with every move you made.  It’s really hard to sleep two adults comfortably in a full-size anything. This was also the same night Ellie slept on a crib mattress and repeatedly rolled off onto the hardwood floor. I kept hearing a *thump* in the night, only to have to scoop Ellie off the floor and lay her back on her sleeping surface.  Poor thing. I always used to associate “rest” with vacation but that was before having kids. The best sleep of all involved two twin beds and a Lake house. Aaaahhh…

 The lowest moment of the trip came with the appearance of the “attack toddler.” Frankly, this really deserves its own post so I may have to save it for another day.

All in all, the trip was awesome and it was great to visit the East Coast extended family. If only we all lived closer. If only the country wasn’t so darn big. It pains me to be so far away and truly believe  it would make life so much sweeter to be nearer–especially for Ellie. But, damn I’m addicted to California life. Maybe someday.

Top 10 reasons why blogging is more difficult than I thought it would be…

10. Too many topics are off limits. Family,  for example.  Oh, the fodder that would provide. The posts would be endless. No can do though. Too many of them know about my blog.

9. Same goes for my job and coworkers. Or, as I fondly refer to them as “my other family.” With half of my world following me on Facebook and Twitter, unless I am prepared to skulk uncomfortably around the office, it’s probably in my best interest to refrain from this too.

8. Writer’s block. I think the right side of my brain has atrophied along with the muscles in my thighs and upper arms. Whatever material I thought I had stored up, seems to be resistant to release–especially in the face of the keyboard and computer.

7.  Intimidation. In case you haven’t noticed, there are a bazillion amazing blogs out there. Ok, so, a bazillion is a bit of an exaggeration. Maybe it’s only a zillion. All I know is that there are a LOT. And, a lot of good ones at that. Start looking at other blogs and you begin to think that a) I’m not worthy! or b) the topic’s already been written about. What more can I bring to the table?

6. Photos. I’m embarrassed to admit this but I honestly don’t know how to download photos. I don’t even own my own camera. I share one. Pictures may not be necessary for blog posts but they do add that special somethin’.  This is one of my goals for the next few months.

5. Drama. Growing up, and probably up until a few years ago, I had a lot of drama in my life. Most of it was probably self-induced but a good percentage of it was what I might call bad luck. When you’ve got drama going on, there is a LOT to talk and write about. Take away the drama and you start writing about what you ate for breakfast, how long your commute was, etc… That’s where I am these days.

4. Shame. Am I really brave enough to admit in a blog post that some days I feel like the world’s worst mother. Because there are  days –like today–where after a long day at the office, I’ve got nothing. I love my daughter immensely, but, sometimes I just don’t FEEL like putting on the one woman circus just to get her to get into her car seat. And, sometimes, I just have to crank up that Led Zeppelin to drown out the whine cry on the 5 minute drive home. I’m not going for Mother of the Year but having other people potentially comment on how I could be doing things better is not something I’m prepared to handle just yet.

3. My funny is lost on my fingers. One of the reasons I was finally talked into starting a blog is because I’ve been told I’m really funny. This is based on all of the emails I’ve been sending around to family and friends over the years. Let’s face it – when you hear something enough  you start to believe it. I started thinking “Hey, I’m funny. They’re right. I should start penning this material.” And, yet, the only time I find myself inspired to write a blog post is when I’m chewing on some existential crisis. I’m having a hard time doing funny.

2. Time. I truly underestimated how much time it takes to really craft a good blog post. I don’t mean I thought this would be easy for me. I mean others make it LOOK so easy. I always envision other bloggers typing out posts on their iphones while they’re driving their cars and singing songs with their kiddies in the back seat.  I am NOT that talented.

1. Well, this is where I am supposed to pull out the blockbuster #1 reason for why it’s so hard to blog. I guess if I could do that, I wouldn’t be suffering from  #8.  Truthfully, I’ve actually learned a little something about myself in this short period of time since I launched this site which is that as open as I think I am, there is that part of me that likes to keep things tidy and neat for the outside world. Tidy and neat doesn’t really make for an interesting blog. I know. I’m working on it.

Where I bare my soul about BlogHer…

 I’m finding this BlogHer recap post a bit challenging to write. Perhaps because I am running on fumes at this point—four nights with little sleep.  That would be the easy answer. The more difficult answer is that there were things I loved about BlogHer and other things, well, that were kind of disappointing.

Let’s talk about love first.

The main reason for my being at BlogHer was to accompany my fabulous author to various sessions, her booksigning, and steer her in the right direction if needed. This part was great. I love to get a chance to hang out with my authors and what a treat to be with a rockstar at BlogHer and see her get recognized by many of her blogging peers.

Speed Dating, BlogHer-style was another favorite. The BlogHer founders did it a little differently than last year and I think made it that much more effective. They had us all line up in two big circles around the room—an inner and outer– facing each other with the instruction that only the inner circle would rotate counterclockwise at one minute intervals. With 1,500 women, the circle went around the entire circumference of the Sheraton ballroom.  Then for about 30 minutes, we had one minute to talk with the person facing us until they told us that our minute was up and the person would move on. I was on the outer circle so I basically stood in one place and waited for new faces to greet me every 60 seconds. It was really fun, albeit a little manic, and gave me an opportunity to meet a wide array of bloggers and other marketing professionals I would not have otherwise gotten a chance to meet.

I also really enjoyed spending time with my colleagues who are a bunch of funny, smart and just downright cool women. Having my own “posse” there made navigating such a huge event that much easier—even though it was still overwhelming.

I have to admit that there was something very awesome about meeting and/or seeing all of these amazing bloggers whom I’ve been following in one form or another for the past year. It really felt like I was seeing and in some cases, meeting, celebrities – even if few would have recognized these women outside of those ballroom walls.

 Now for the mixed feelings.

The sessions were a mixed bag and part of that was due to poor planning on the part of the BlogHer folks.  Do you think it makes sense to put four of your most popular bloggers on a panel together and put them in a tiny room in the corner of the basement? It gave new meaning to standing room only. People were sitting on the floor, in corners, jammed in the doorway, and practically on top of one another. It was hard to hear and really difficult to connect and caused a bit of competitiveness as people fought to get through the doors and gain the best view.

Another complaint is related to the sessions that didn’t deliver on what they promised. For example, should we really be talking about Google alerts in an Advanced SEO session? If I’m feeling unchallenged then you know there is a problem.

With that said, I did find some sessions valuable including a Beginning SEO session lead by Kelby. She was very knowledgeable and I picked up some great tips so thanks to Kelby for that. Also very helpful was the session on getting the word out about your blog. All three panelists were fabulous and incredibly knowledgeable so thanks to Jen, Annie and Jessica for your savvy sense (even if I had to sit on the darn floor again – growl).

And, naturally I attended the “Online Safety for Your Kids” session where my author, Lenore, joined a talented panel of women and added just the right amount of humor and fact-based savvy while addressing a host of issues and concerns related to kids and the Internet. 

 I would love to be sharing more of my great knowledge from all of the sessions I attended, which brings me to complaint #3. Can we please make this a three day conference? With an average of six sessions going on concurrently on TOP of the helpful Geek labs (where one can polish up on their social media skills), it’s impossible to even scrape the surface of everything being offered — not to mention all of the random giveaways (read: SWAG) and other distractions going on concurrently. A three-day conference would allow the attendees to experience so much more –visit more panels, have more time to spend with each other (as opposed to drive-bys which is what a lot of it felt like to me).

From a professional standpoint, I did walk away with more blogging and social media insight than I had going in but I know I could have come away with that much more if I’d been able to sit in on more sessions.

 The part that kind of sucked.

This was my first year attending BlogHer as an actual blogger. So even though I was there in a professional capacity, there was a part of me that felt a bit vulnerable. Sure, I could have not even mentioned that I’d started a blog, but, what good is that? If I wasn’t going to feel comfortable telling people I have a blog at a BLOGGING conference, well, I might as well just shut down and call it a day.

I even went so far as to create new business cards to *advertise* myself if the opportunity were to arise. And, of course it did.  Repeatedly. After awhile I got used to explaining that while I was at BlogHer for business purposes–and what that business was– I also had a blog. Most people were very nice and we went through the exercise of exchanging cards.

As I mentioned in the Love part above, it was exciting to see and/or meet some big name bloggers – at first. After about a day of being there it felt a bit like there was a hierarchy at play – the popular bloggers and everyone else. I didn’t fully realize that some of the bloggers that I’d been following religiously (and commenting on their posts regularly) were the most popular bloggers. But, once I got to BlogHer it became clear. And, while I realize, of course, that they don’t owe me a thing : What am I to them but just another reader?  I can’t help but think that it’s all of your readers and commenters that MAKE you popular. If not for us, where would you be?

It made me even question if I wanted to do this blogging thing if it’s all about popularity. I started blogging because I wanted to write – not to be popular. I thought if I ever got to a place where even a few people were commenting that that would be significant. And, if anyone ever came up to me and told me that they loved my blog, I’d be thrilled and gracious. But, I guess, like with any celebrity – after you hear it a few thousand times, it just gets old.

Regardless, this little undercurrent of elitism left me a little bruised but also the wiser. And, while this certainly isn’t my main take away from BlogHer 2009, it saddens me that it’s a take away at all.

Family planning…

Why is it that just when you think you’ve made peace with something, you question it all over again? Or, perhaps that’s just me.  I am notorious for not being able to make a decision. PB (my tolerant husband) always jokes “as long as there’s an out, you’re in.”  There’s a lot of truth to that.

But, to be fair, deciding whether or not to try and have a second child is a huge decision. Epic, really. I know that there are people everywhere having children every day and not obsessing over it the way I am, but, I bet most of those folks are not of advanced maternal age (or in my case, way past it).

When Ellie was born, I figured that I’d be ready to try again, IF I was going to try again, when she turned one. But, that year went by way too fast and frankly, after 3 miscarriages and 9 months of *morning* sickness, I wasn’t nearly ready to a) jump back in and b)move my attention away from my baby after trying for so long to have her. So, I set a new goal — by the time Ellie turned two. By then,  CLEARLY  I would know what to do. And, if I still wasn’t ready by then, well, we’d try to just be happy with our one.

Well, guess what, the second year went by even FASTER! 

Now she is 2 1/2 and I’m not kidding when I say that I’ve literally changed my mind about 10 times since the beginning of the year. “I’m done. No more.” “Maybe we could try again?” “Maybe we’ll adopt.” And, on and on and on.

The thing is, I’m not sure I have the energy. It’s not easy managing a full-time career and an active toddler. I’m also pretty poor – at least by San Francisco standards. I can’t imagine how we’d afford a second child (not to mention where we’d put him/her.)  I also can’t imagine going through morning sickness again. UGH. I had it with each and every one of my pregnancies — even those that ended in miscarriage. 

But, frankly, none of these rational arguments help an ovulating Mom when she sees the tender cradle of a newborn nuzzled into his Mommy’s busom, or when I see my beloved toddler play with her *babies* day after day after day as I look on pondering what a great older sister she’d be. During these moments I end up right back at square one.

At some point, though, biology is going to take over and make a decision for me. I’ve never been a gambler but I find myself gambling with this choice. I can only hope that if we do move forward, that the roulette game plays to our advantage. And if not, that I can finally find peace with our little family — perfect in its own right.

.