The Resume of Motherhood

I can think of few activities more depressing than putting together a resume after not working for seven years.  I know, because I just did it.

I couldn't remember half of the orchestras I've played in, how long I worked at various places, even had to doublecheck graduation YEARS for college and grad school.  I have not contributed to our family's income since 2005.  I know, because I still do our taxes.  Let me be clear - I am not ungrateful.  My husband works long and hard hours to support our family.  Even so, time has truly marched on, and has crushed huge chunks of my life into dusty memories.

Ryan asked what I was doing at the computer.  When I explained to him what a resume was, he looked at me with a disturbing mix of concern and pity.  "What DID you tell them you do, Mom?"  Even he knew that my skill at packing three nutritious, individualized bag lunches a day doesn't really impress the powers that be.  Nor would my uncanny ability to find lost library books, or to get splinters out, or to read stories with a different voice for each character without getting them mixed up.  Hmm.  What DO I do, after all?

Let's take today, for example.  Today was the last day of spring break.  It was gorgeous.  I packed a backpack full of snacks, loaded dog, bikes and kids into the car and headed out to Tallman (a local state park).   I strapped on helmets and reassured nervous riders, legs still wobbly from the long winter.  I showed them a new hiking path that led to a bluff overlooking our expansive, majestic Hudson River.  I got to hear them gasp with awe, and watched carefully as they found a place to sit, close to the edge - but not too close!  I pointed out the red-tailed hawk soaring overhead, seeking a smaller bird's nest.  I lifted logs so they could peer underneath, listened to them squealing at centipedes and grubs.  I watched intently as they crossed over rushing streams, celebrating each crossing with cheers and exuberant high-fives.  I marveled over a dead snake and discussed its identity and beauty, even in death.  I carefully removed a beetle from Matthew's shirt and placed it on a leaf, and watched my son's face as he offered it a farewell goodbye, wishing it "a happy life".  I smiled.  So did the beetle, I swear.

I offered encouragement and ice cream to tired bike riders on the way back to the car, and felt my heart swell as their tiny legs pushed onward, renewed.  I was aware that this moment would never be again, and I was grateful.

I write this post for every mother - every mother who suffers the daily unthankfulness of motherhood.  Who pushes loaded grocery carts in the rain, who drives forgotten jackets/lunches/backpacks to school and never hears a 'thank you', who sits through baseball games while juggling bored younger siblings, who forfeits two hours of her life standing around at a birthday party while her child plays away, who gives her last dollar to buy the sweater/toy/book/CD/concert tickets that her child really wants, who stays up until the wee hours with worry and fear about her child's wellbeing and health, who bites her tongue when her 14 year old lashes out at her, who remembers to send in the field trip permission slips/lunch money/party rsvps/parent teacher conferences forms/camp applications/school photo payments, who allows her daughter to ride with a friend to the diner for the very first time, who advocates for her special-needs son to get the very best support possible, who knows where the bat/ball/glove/favorite shirt/Lego/Polly Pocket/piano books/lacrosse stick/eyeliner is, who takes her children to job interviews because she can't afford to hire yet another babysitter just to try to make money,

To you beautiful mothers I say this -- you are not writing a resume.  You are engraving an indelible message on your children's hearts.  It says, "YOU MATTER."  It will not go unnoticed.  You are the most important authors there are.

Keep on writing, my friends.

All the Little Unseen Things

A good friend of mine recently reminded me of an email I'd written to her in 2008.  Her daughter had lost a tooth and was asking The Question about the Tooth Fairy.  She'd emailed several friends asking for advice.  I wrote back to her with my experience.  She saved my response and very kindly sent it back to me, suggesting I add it to my blog.  So, here it is...
**********************************************************************************

Oh boy.  You touched on a tender spot for me here.  I will never forget being about 10 (!!!!), my dad was tucking me in, and I said, "Wait!  I have to put my tooth under my pillow!"  He chuckled and replied, "Oh right - for the tooth fairy, right?"  Wink, wink.  Well, the kicker was that I actually DID still believe in the tooth fairy - it was my one remaining belief in that sort of thing!  It sounds kind of funny now, but it was a devastating realization at the time.  

The next morning, I discovered a letter under my pillow, and my tooth was gone.  I wish I could find the letter so I could share it with you verbatim.  My dad had typed out the most beautiful note, and signed it from 'All the Little Unseen Things'.  The essence of the letter was that there are all kinds of things in the world that we know are real - love, God, happiness, peace, friendship, (spirits, fairies!) etc - and yet we cannot see, touch, smell, hear or taste them.  What makes them real is our belief in them, and our feeling them.  People believe in all different kinds of things, but what is important is knowing what we feel in our own selves.  The message that I came away with was, there may not be a "real" tooth fairy, but the magical feeling of waking up and finding a coin under my pillow WAS.  Granted, I was much older than [her daughter], but I was able to understand that IF my parents were truly the money-leavers, they did it because they loved me, and took pleasure in my delight.

Now, I cannot tell you if you should lie or tell the truth.  The one thing I can tell you is the obvious - some children still believe, and some don't (like the boy who told Ryan there was no Santa last year). When Ryan asked me, I turned around the question and asked him to tell me what he thought.  He still had faith in a real Santa.  As he wrote his note and left out cookies and carrots for Rudolph (as I was thinking, for perhaps the last year??),  I could see that he was deliberate and thoughtful.  I knew questions were in his head, but he was forging ahead and choosing to believe.  I can only hope when he does stop believing in a physical Santa, that he will be left with the anticipation, wonder and magic of those childhood memories in his heart.  Because, after all, memories are real!

Love,

J
***********************************************************************************
PS - Just a little update - Ryan still puts out cookies and milk for Ol' Saint Nick, and carrots for the reindeer.  Although he has never verbalized his thoughts to me about a 'real' Santa, he takes great delight in sharing his little brothers' excitement and enchantment on Christmas Eve.  Does he actually still believe?  I don't know.  But, I DO know he fully believes in the spirit of Christmas and celebrating it to the fullest.  And that is magical enough for both of us.

Boredom Stew

I miss the days when Sesame Street came on at four o'clock on channel 13, and if you missed it, it was too damn bad.  You had to wait until the next day to see the next one.  No Tivo, no fast forward, no Netflix streaming an entire series at a time.  No dvds, no blu-ray, no You Tube.  No iTunes, no downloads, no Wii.  No DS's, no X-Boxes, no Nintendo.  No smartphones, no Droids, no iPhones - just one big white dumb phone with a 17 foot long stretched out cord in the kitchen.  No caller ID, no call waiting, no voicemail.  Just a droning busy signal that meant exactly that - we're busy.  Have some Patience and Wait.  Then if you really want to talk to me, try dialing again.  If you're lucky, my mom will let me talk to you for three minutes before she picks up the extension to tell me my phone time's done.

No texting, no sexting, no forwards, no email.  Just notes scrawled on looseleaf and painstakingly folded into origami-like structures, only to be passed between desks and in halls, to be stashed away safely to savor in private, read again and again.  Saved in a shoebox and treasured.  Letters written by hand on blue airmail paper with tiny foreign stamps that looked like paintings for a dollhouse. 

No TVs in restaurants, bars, lobbies.  No screens on buses, subways, trains, on each seat on airplanes.  No commercials in stores, malls, movie theaters, while waiting on line at the bank, for crying out loud!  Have we really become so incapable of handling a few moments of waiting, of nothing to do?  My fear is that yes, we have, and we are training our children to completely lose touch with their ability to be still, silent, patient and - GASP - dare I even say it? - BORED.

I am sitting here writing about the evils of technology on my cherished laptop to publish on my electronic blog.  I totally get the irony.  Nor am I some uber-vigilante mom living in the woods without electricity, making my kids whittle their nightly dinner forks out of the nearest tree branches.  We own a Wii, an iTouch, cellphones, TVs, and two computers.  My husband will be the first to tell you that I am passionately in love with my iTouch.  There are days he regrets giving it to me.  (I think he is just jealous - he lost his).  Those of you who know me know full well the struggles I face daily with my children because of these items.  The Wii was banned for months after it became such an obsession for my youngest (who at the time was 4, by the way).  I showed my firstborn hour upon hour of Baby Einstein videos - he even ate in front of the TV many a night.  Believe me, I am not here to judge. 
I am here, however, to sound a call.

The challenges we face as parents are unlike any of those who came before us.  We truly are pioneers in this age of Electronic Overload.  Our children are bombarded daily with messages, both emotional and social, based on the devices they do/don't/should/might soon get.  Their very self-worth at times is at stake, as I am learning, as my ten year old goes to sleepovers surrounded by kids who bring cellphones and iTouches and lie in their sleeping bags until 2am, staring at their screens and listening to their music, lying next to each other, yet alone - plugged in, tuned out.  My son, who doesn't yet own a phone or iTouch, lay quietly, listening to the hum of headphones and watching the flashes of light on the ceiling until he finally fell asleep.  No giggles, no whispering, no ghost stories. 

This is to say nothing of the destruction that can occur when a text, email, Facebook message or picture is used to hurt or bully a child.   It spreads like wildfire and leaves deep ugly scars.

I am here because I want to strengthen my resistance to the siren song of the screen.  At least, on behalf of the children.  I am scared for them. 
I have seen 18 month olds in grocery carts with iPhones.  Two four year olds I know just received iTouches for their birthdays.  I have seen a mother with her very young son out for lunch, texting away on her Blackberry while her son played on his with not one word passing between them, even after the food came.

I have actually heard my children and their friends say the following:
"If we play Legos for three minutes, then can we play Wii?"
"I just don't like playing if there are no electronics."
"We already did human things - now can we play Wii?"
 
I have been cajoled, yelled at, cried to, and yes, even bribed with real coins from a 5 year old's pocket, to allow them to play video games.  I get it.  It's a truly frustrating and exhausting battle.

But you know what?  So is parenting.  And like most things in life, doing it right often times means doing it the hard way.  Drawing a line, setting a standard, having a backbone.  I have found through my own slipshod experience, it is easier to hold the reins tight and slacken as needed.  Yes, my sons get mad at me.  Yes, there are arguments and tears and I get SO freaking sick of saying 'No - it's a school day, you can have some Wii time on the weekend', or 'No - you know our rules, no Wii on playdates at our house, ever.  PLAY.  That is what you are supposed to be doing.  You are ten/seven/five years old.'

Here's the deal.  If we don't carve out spaces for our children to hear silence and to be still, they will not exist.   The daily inundation of noise and internet and stimulation and interruption is constant with no end in sight.  When you say no to an electronic device, instead of looking at it as depriving them of something, let's look at it as giving them a chance to breathe.  For in actuality what you are doing is creating a haven, a safe place to retreat from the hubbub.  Don't worry - they will have the rest of their lives to sail the grand seas of Electronicdom.  It will all come in good time.  They will be exposed to more than you ever dreamed of, more than you ever wanted them to be.  I promise you, they won't miss out.  If only they could.  But for now, I have a little bit of control and influence over their tiny lives, and I am choosing to exercise it before they are taller than I am.

So, what can they do, you ask?  Well, what did WE do?  How did we ever survive childhood without Angry Birds or Bloons Tower Defense 4?  Hmm...let's remember...

Hopscotch, kickball, hide-and-seek, tag.
Riding bikes, rollerskates, skateboards, scooters.
Friendship bracelets, friendship pins, making mixtapes.
Checkers, Monopoly (still a great game, by the way), Tic Tac Toe, Scrabble, Hangman.
Drawing, painting, Shrinky Dinks, Colorforms.
Imaginative play (!!! You know, like playing house or firemen or doctor)
Reading, writing, playing an instrument, writing a song
Pen pals, selling lemonade (or my memory of making painted rocks to sell out of my red wagon, pulling it down the dead end street I grew up on).
Listening to music, but together in our rooms, reading liner notes and laughing.
Any number of cool board games/puzzles/Madlibs.
Legos, blocks, train sets, Barbies, dollhouses.
Truth or Dare, Mother May I, Simon Says, Red Light Green Light.
Making a haunted house in the basement.
Starting a band.
Exploring the woods/going on a hike/to a park/playground.
Making homemade playdough/cookies/ice cream.
Sprinklers or just a garden hose.
 If you can't think of anything else, sometimes it's just not so bad to lie on the couch and Do Nothing.
(A quilt in the backyard works quite nicely for this activity, too). 

Ideas bubble forth from boredom - it is really the broth of creativity. 
Personally, I am looking forward to tasting my children's creative stew. 
I wanna see what they add to the pot.