A new perspective

On my last night of our Florida vacation, I sat out on the balcony and stared out at the ocean. It was almost midnight, and we had to be up at 4 am in order to make our flight home.

I was sitting in the exact same spot I wrote the last Florida-themed post, and even though the view was hadn’t changed, my perspective had.

It’s true, I didn’t get to sit out on this balcony and read book after book. I did read one book, but I had to stay up till almost 3 am every day in order to do so.

And we didn’t spend hours at the pool, lounging in the shade. In fact, we spent probably about an hour a day at the pool, desperately trying to contain our children, whose abilities in the water already far exceed my own.

We didn’t go shopping every night and eat in fancy restaurants. We hit exactly one mall, and only because it had an indoor playground.

And meals, we discovered, were much more enjoyable at home where we didn’t have to worry about the noise, the mess and appropriate menus.

And no, we didn’t have sex 3 times a day. In fact…

You know what? Let’s just leave that one alone.

What we did get to do was spend every waking moment with our two beautiful children. We watched them jump in the pool, run in the sand (okay, so it was only once but it still counts) and play with other kids. Kids who just happen to be the children of some of our oldest and dearest friends.

And that, my friends, is something so special it goes beyond the telling of it.

And the most incredible thing happened. Two incredible things, actually. I went 14 whole days without yelling at my kids. And even better? I absolutely, positively fell in love with my daughter.

So while Florida most certainly is no longer the vacation it used to be for us, I’m amazed at all the new doors that have opened, and all the new opportunities for exploring its potential through the eyes and imaginations of our kids. Now they have something to look forward to every year.

And passing this kind of magic down, generation to generation, well, isn’t that just what life is all about?

Guest Post: Solo parenting ain’t so bad… just don’t tell my husband

My friend Andrea from D.C. recently did a bout of solo parenting while her husband was away on business. She made an off-hand remark about how exhausting the experience was, and recognizing the tone of defeat I’d felt myself in the past, I invited her to share her experiences with all of you. So thank you, Andrea, for today’s guest post. And for giving me the day off at the tail end of my vacation.

***

Here’s a taste of what my December looked like this year…

Beyond the normal craziness of holiday parties, shopping for unnecessary and pointless presents, and bringing good cheer to all, I endured 13 days of solo parenting.

My husband went on two business trips separated by only one day at home.  While I admit that he does help out around here a fair amount, I wasn’t terribly worried. My boys are 7 and 4 and do a decent job of taking care of themselves. But throw into the mix Hanukkah celebrations with 3 different sets of families/friends, attending a birthday party in the pouring rain, indoor soccer, a car accident, a blizzard, cancelled school, oh yeah, and working full time with an hour commute on each end of the day, and I had had enough by the time he came home.

All in all, I was quite proud of myself. I didn’t have any help (although some might call polishing off a few bottles of wine a bit of help), I never resented him for being away, and I only wanted to throw the kids face first into the snow once or twice during these past two weeks.

With every dig of the snow shovel, I kept telling myself how proud I was – I was 100% responsible for the well being of those two happy warm boys inside and we were all ok. I’m not sure how much they even missed their father during those two weeks. They asked about him once or twice, but overall they seemed to be satisfied with the way their lives were going while he was away.

Granted, they didn’t eat the culinary masterpieces my husband cooks up, but they were really excited with the prospect of having McDonalds. Not every night, mind you, but maybe once…or twice.

So now he’s back and what have I learned from my time on my own? That I’m EXHAUSTED. And if I ever have to go this long on my own again, I’m hiring a babysitter!

Two

My daughter turns 2 today.

18 months ago, I would have bet against anyone who said we’d both survive to see this day. We’ve certainly had our ups and downs, and it’s taken us a long time (2 years, in fact) to reach this point, but I can honestly say we’ve arrived at a really good place.

A part of me is still very sorry that I opted not to take the anti-depressants, that I wasn’t able to fully enjoy and appreciate the first 2 years of her life. But at least now I realize that even if I had been different, she would still have been the same. The drugs may have helped me cope better, but it wouldn’t have changed one damn thing for her.

And if this was the road we had to take to arrive at where we are today, so be it. Because really, I wouldn’t trade her for anything.

Happy birthday to my fierce, fearless, independent, intelligent and beautiful girl.

I love you.

Then...

... and now.

You can never go back

Florida was always our special place.

My husband and I first came out here together about a month after we’d started dating. Young, broke and adventurous, we jumped into the car and drove for 30 hours straight – a sure compatibility test if I ever saw one.

That trip was pure magic, and as a result we tried to make it out here once a year, up until about 3 years ago. Whatever was going on in our lives, whatever hell we were going through with our work, our family, our friends or even our own relationship, Florida was always the cure.

Staying up late, sleeping till noon, long walks on the beach and sex 3 times a day. We’d eat at great restaurants, shop to our heart’s content and spend hours by the pool, reading book after book after book.  It was heaven.

When our son was a baby, we were so excited to bring him down here. We couldn’t wait to share our sacred spot with him. But when he woke up at the strike of 7 on that first morning, we knew things would never be the same.

He didn’t like shopping. He didn’t have the patience for restaurants. He wasn’t content to spend hours at the pool, at the beach or in the condo, simply doing nothing. And needless to say, the frequency of our romps dropped drastically.

But regardless, that trip still had its fair share of magic. Watching him crawl through the sand and wade headfirst, fearlessly, into the ocean. The delight in his eyes when we buried his feet in the sand. The ring of his laughter as he splashed in the baby pool.

For whatever reason, we didn’t make it back to Florida for the next 2 years. Last winter, we really, really missed it. We had 2 kids, I was back at work and just learning how to juggle the whole working mom scenario. It was a long, hard winter and I just kept thinking, if only we could get to Florida, everything would be alright.

So this year, we decided to make the trip. It cost us a fortune but we didn’t care. We needed the sun. The sand. We needed to get back to a place where life was simple, easy and stress-free.

Ha.

Anyone who vacations with young children knows that’s a pretty tall order to fill. All the ideas I had in my head, all the plans I had for the kids – they were all flushed down the toilet within 48 hours of our arrival. The weather sucks, the kids are scared(!) of the beach and when you get down to it, there’s really very little for them to do in this neck of the woods.

So I got depressed. And stressed. To the point where I almost had a mini-breakdown the other night. Lying in bed at 2 am, crying softly into my husband’s shoulder, wondering where we’d went wrong.

But of course, there was no “wrong.” There was no right. It just is. But you know what the beautiful part is? My children are none the wiser. They have no idea what this trip was supposed to be.

And all those things that I wanted to do with them? The swimming, the sandcastles, riding the waves – they’re not missing it at all. In fact, they’re having a great time. Nothing makes them happier than chucking their daily routine and running like madmen back and forth across the balcony.

So no, Florida is not the same place for my husband and I as it used to be. It’s no longer our salvation, our respite and our dream vacation. But maybe, just maybe, it can become something else.

The truth is, you can never go back. And that’s what it’s taken me the first week of this trip to realize. Hopefully, I can use the second week to learn how to go forward.

Indoctrination

Step 1 in a 12 Step Hairclip Tolerance Program

The girl meets her match

The Devil's Instrument

My daughter has finally met her match. And believe it or not, it comes in the form of a simple hair clip.

We’re talking about the girl who leaps fearlessly from high places, who climbs, scrambles and runs with wild abandon. The girl who has a lust for life, a sparkle in her eye and the devil on her mind.

Yet, she’s terrified of hair clips. Or more precisely, my mother in law wearing hair clips.

In case you haven’t been following along, we’re staying with her in Florida for a 2-week vacation. She lives in Montreal, as we do, but spends 6 weeks every winter in Palm Beach. This woman is no stranger to my daughter. In fact, my daughter loves her fiercely and lights up every time she walks in the room.

Except when she’s wearing the clips.

And that happens every time she washes her hair. And that happens every day. Having never stayed anywhere overnight with her before, she’s completely unaccustomed to this, and refuses to believe it’s the very same person she knows and adores.

So now I always know when my mother in law is coming out of the shower because the girl will tear down the hallway screaming and leap into my arms, shutting her eyes tight and won’t remove her head from it’s burial spot in my neck until we’ve assured her, over and over again, that the coast is clear.

It’s fucking hysterical.

Ready for take-off

Why does a 3 hour plane trip turn into an all-day ordeal when you’re traveling with kids? Seriously. This is a mystery for the ages.

Granted, we decided to fly out of Plattsburgh instead of leaving from Montreal which added another hour onto the journey, but please – no airport customs and half the price certainly made that decision worthwhile.

We woke up at 6:30 and we were out of the house by 8:30. We made it to the airport by 10:15,  close to 2 hours before our flight at noon. Once we were checked in and at the gate, we walked right onto the plane. We weren’t late, but we had no time to spare. It was perfect.

Especially considering I drugged the girl while waiting in line to check in.

I realize I’m going to get a lot of flack for that, but anyone who knows me knows I’m all about the preemptive medicating. During my daughter’s first year, if there was even a possibility of a tooth cutting gum, out came the Motrin.

A couple of weeks back, I made the decision to dose both kids with Gravol before taking off. I was sure he’d be terrified, and life with her is exciting enough that I don’t need the added surprise of how she’s react to a plane trip.

But as the date drew closer, and he got more and more excited, I decided to give him a say.

“Sweetheart, I have some medicine I can give you before getting on the plane that will make you sleepy. Do you want to take it?”

“Why sleepy?”

“Well, in case you’re nervous about flying, or the noises the plane makes, I thought it would be a good idea to help you sleep through the flight.”

“No, Mommy. I’m not scared. I don’t want any medicine.”

And that was that.

The two of them were practically giddy while waiting in line at security. They were so excited about the vacation and travel that I had second thoughts about the Gravol. Maybe I’d made a mistake. Maybe she could have handled it on her own.

Then she saw the walkway from the gate to the airplane. Suddenly, she gained 100 lbs and grew cleats in her heels. It reminded me of my dog, who turns into dead weight when we try to chase her off the bed.

We settled into our seats and got ready for take-off. By the time we started down the runway, her eyes had glazed over. By the time the wheels were pulled back up into the body of the plane, she was out.

Like I said. Perfect.

The boy, meanwhile, was enthralled. He just couldn’t get enough out of looking out the window and asking questions. And when he grew bored, he put on my earphones and watched Toy Story 2. There was not one complaint out of his mouth the entire flight.

When she woke up, about an 1 1/2 hours later, she was completely fine. Yes, the dose was supposed to knock her out for 8 hours, but this is my daughter we’re talking about. I’m just thankful for the short reprieve we did get.

By the time we were close to landing, she was angling for a view out out the window and screeching, “Eh-plane! Eh-plane!”

Look, Mommy. There's an airplane up in the sky.

“You’re ON an airplane,” her brother tried to explain.

We waited for everyone else to disembark and then we gathered up our stuff to leave. During the flight, one of the attendants had told us that if we were the last ones off, we’d be able to take the boy into the cockpit to meet the pilot.

And really, apart from the butterflies, that had to be one of the most precious moments of parenting I’ve had to date. They even let him use the intercom.

Hello? Hello? Is this thing on?

But by the time we disembarked, collected our luggage, found my mother-in-law and got to the car, it was well past 5. We got home, had dinner and shuttled the kids off to bed (a whole other post, let me tell you).

Like I said. A whole freakin’ day. For a 3 hour flight.

Man, am I exhausted.

One small step for woman…

Imagine if I called my mother up one day with something really important to tell her and she said, “Listen. Not now. I’ve had a really long day, I’m tired, I’m stressed and I just don’t have the patience for this.”

I would be crushed.

And yet, in some or other fashion, I express this thought to my children on a regular basis. This haunts me, yet I can’t seem to put a stop to it.

Of course there’s a big difference in the two scenarios. My children are not in their late-30’s. But then again, I’m not in my formative years.

A friend recently told me that life is different for the under 5 set. That they don’t really remember this shit later on, that they love us unconditionally at this age.

But still, I was bothered enough by the thought to mention it to my own mother. To find out what she thought. Secretly, I was praying that my own memory was faulty. That I really didn’t remember anything that happened to me before the age of 5, and that maybe she used to yell at me all the time.

Not so much.

She told me this story of how my sister once got mad at her for yelling at me for no reason.

“Why are you yelling at Julie? She never does anything bad.”

And she was right. In fact, the reason my mother was yelling at me was because she never had before. Not once. I was a sickeningly good child. She was only worried that I’d hear someone else yelling and get frightened because I’d never heard yelling before.

You gotta love a Jewish mother’s logic.

In any case, I’m not foolish enough to believe that I can quit cold turkey. That I can magically alter my personality overnight and stop yelling, stop getting annoyed so easily.

But there is something I can do.

Today, we leave for our first vacation as a complete family unit. We’re going to Florida for 2 weeks. No work, no deadlines, no obligations. I can relax, take it easy and just let go.

And for these 2 weeks, I can try, really try, not to yell at my kids. To devote myself to them, to this time together, and cherish it. I’m not an idiot. I know the day will soon come when they’ll have friends and plans and places they’d rather be. All these infant/baby/toddler years will just be a memory.

And I’d really like to create some memories I can be proud of.

Blessed

Every year, I search high and low for the perfect holiday gifts for my kids’ daycare teachers… and I always fall short. This year, when my daughter’s teacher (previously my son’s teacher) asked for my brownies, I figured there you go.

So brownies it is for everyone. Except the chef, who has to watch her sugar intake. I got her a Christmas cactus. She loves plants, loves to make things grow. It’s apparent by my kids’ bellies.

So Sunday afternoon, while my daughter was napping, my son and I set about making the brownies. And he was such a big help. He measured, poured, whisked. All I had to do was instruct him and melt the chocolate. But I did take the opportunity to explain the concept of a double-boiler to him.

I caught a glimpse of my husband in the living room on the couch, smiling at us silently. I paused to take stock of the situation and realized, yes, this was a special moment.

He’s getting to be such a big boy. Whenever I’d caution him about spilling, or touching something hot, he’d say, “I’m being careful, Mommy. I’m a very careful boy.”

And he is. Unlike his sister, who is so the opposite of careful. That very morning, she was lying in bed with me at about 7:30 am and we were playing. Suddenly, she rolled off my chest without realizing there was no bed beneath her.

I caught her around the waist, and she had her head wedged between the bed and night table. She instinctively grabbed onto the table, and her feet were tangled up in blanket. She was whimpering.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

I kept my grip on her, untangled her feet and lowered her gently to the ground. She looked up at me, clambered onto the bed and bellowed, “MORE!”

They’re like night and day, the two of them.

But I think I’ve finally reached the point where if someone held a gun to my head and said, “Choose!” I think I’d have a really hard time. What’s amazing is, I don’t love him any less. I just love her a whole lot more. And him too, if that makes any sense.

Things have really clicked into place lately. I’m really getting that sense of family now – it’s slowly creeping into all those places that used to just feel like taking  a nap. I’m really enjoying spending time with the kids, watching them develop. They’re at vastly different but equally exciting stages.

And even as I sit here, at 11:04 pm, when I should have been sleeping hours ago, I’m thankful. Thankful for my kids, their teachers, my husband, our health, our wonderful jobs, our loving families and our tight circle of friends.

We’ve been blessed. Truly.

The girl’s growing up

My daughter, as we all know, is very needy. Both emotionally and physically. She always wants to be picked up, cuddled or played with. The picking up part is a nightmare, and the leg-clinging has to stop, but the constant snuggling is really very sweet.

As soon as I sit down on the couch, she runs over and climbs into my lap. In bed, she needs to be draped over my body, her head safe in the crook of my neck. She loves physical contact.

The drawback to this is that it leaves little room for my son to get any affection. Mostly he’s okay with that, and he gets his snuggles in at bedtime. He’s good about this because he’s always been very independent.

As an infant, he was content to lie on his back and stare up at the world. As a baby he would sit in his rocker for hours on end. As a toddler, he loved to sit and look at his books and even now, his imagination takes him wherever he needs to go.

But sometimes, he needs me. And her particular personality doesn’t really allow for that. And the more he pushes, the more she tries to ward him off. But the other day, I discovered the chink in her armor.

Her love for him.

We were leaving daycare and it was already dark. It had snowed and there was ice on the ground. I had parked on a side street and when we hit the corner, the boy said, “I’m going to run!”

“Be careful! It’s slippery.” I said. I immediately wanted to hit myself for sounding like my mother (sorry, mom). But then he fell. Hard.

His cry pierced my heart. I was carrying a big bag filled with their shoes, snowpants, my purse, etc. I dropped the bag and ran to him. I scooped him up and was whispering into his ear when I heard the girl calling.

“Mommy! Mama!”

I looked up, and rather than trying to worm her way into my arms, she had gone back down the street and tried to retrieve the bag. It was too heavy for her. But every time I tried to put the boy down and go get the bag, she’d scream at me and point to her brother.

She pointed towards the car, mustered up her strength (she’s a little tank) and picked up the bag, determined to help out in this emergency in whatever way she could.

It was really touching.

It made me realize how much she’s growing up. For one thing, she’s gotten really tall all of a sudden. When she slides off my bed, I’m always shocked at how much there’s left of her, showing above the mattress.

But she’s also growing emotionally, as well. It was the first time I ever saw such a display of compassion from her.

I also realized that a lot of her traits I’m lacking admiration for are starting to show positive sides, too. Like with her brother, her stubbornness kind of evolved into helpfulness. I guess it all depends on which way you look at the situation.

For example, her continuing insistence on doing EVERYTHING herself has led to early independence in a lot of areas. Seemingly physically unable to allow me to do anything for her, she now gets herself dressed in the morning. At just under 2 years old.

She picks her clothes (roughly 70% of the time they match) and single-mindedly sets about getting each item on. Except the socks. She loves to be barefoot and waits till the last second before letting me put those on.

The other day when I picked them up at school, we got off the elevator in the lobby and she disappeared around the corner to her cubby. I sat on the floor and went about taking off the boy’s shoes and putting on his boots.

When I looked up, she was sitting proudly beside him, her boots on and her shoes by her side. She’d done it all herself.

I smiled at her and applauded. She grinned from ear to ear. I laughed out loud and leaned in towards her.

“What a good girl you are,” I whispered in her ear.

And I meant it. I really, really meant it.