Archives for the month of: May, 2012

Be a role model

May 30, 2012 //
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Last week, I chatted with my Great Aunt Lydia about her life, raising kids, and what she remembers looking back. You last met her here. She’s 91 years old, lives in Manhattan, had a thriving career as a nurse, running her own department at Lenox Hill Hospital, a top hospital in Manhattan (where Beyonce and JayZ’s sprog was birthed, no less).

Lydia is positive, but sensible. Kind, but not a pushover. Warm-hearted but firm. Open her cupboards, and you’ll find rows of neatly bound folders and albums that contain a life’s worth of information and memories. Step into her home on her birthday and you’ll be overwhelmed with bouquets of flowers and hundreds of cards. She has a magnet on her fridge that says something like “Each day, let me be a blessing to someone.” And use is — both at the end of people’s lives (she’s helped countless friends through the dying process) and at the beginning (she met my two children, as babies, with the genuine love of the archetypal mother).

In short, she’s a gem.

I launched Been there, done that, because I think we all need to hear from older women who’ve been through it all, and can share wisdom that’s gained about mothering, wife-ing, working and just having a full life. These wise souls can serve as mirrors, helping us reflect on our own journeys as women and mothers through the prism of their triumphs, their regrets and their overall perspectives.

So I’m starting with my beloved Lydia. I wanted to know if Lydia had struggled at all with motherhood, and if so, what she’d learned. My commentary in italics are alongside our interview.

What were the biggest challenges you faced in raising your children?
When I finally had Louise (her daughter), I immediately bonded with her. She was so wide-awake and looking at me with those big eyes. There I was on a stretcher being taken back to my room and Ed (Lydia’s husband) and I had said we should both work…but at the end of three months, I couldn’t leave Louise. I said I can’t leave her with a stranger, she’s so precious and so wonderful. So that was a struggle.  We had to adjust to one income. And we did manage to get through financially.

I promise you, though I dug, I could not get Lydia to admit to one psychological struggle in raising her children. This either means she’s perfect, too old to remember, or belongs to a generation of women who never complain. Either way, I was both stumped and impressed. 

But that didn’t dissuade me from trying to dig for more…

Did you ever face self-doubt in raising your children? 

When you are a student nurse you rotate through every department in the hospital, so I spent time in the pediatric department and I became aware of some of the hazards, like choking.  But it really goes back to the way you were brought up. That’s why we talk about role models. Like Louise says to me, “You were such a wonderful role model for me.” And she and I are so much alike that we’re almost like twins. We get the same thoughts at the same hour. I would be thinking of her and she would call me the next minute. But it all depends on your own upbringing, how you treat your children. You pick the things you like out of the way you were brought up.

(This is a tough one for me. I love my mother endlessly, but I always wanted a mother who spent her free time baking chocolate chip cookies rather than being glamorous in Manolos and skinny jeans. Today, I appreciate my mother for who she is, not what I wanted her to be. And I suppose motherhood is learning to accept ourselves for who we are — even though our children may yearn for someone different. Because I’ve realized I’m not the ideal mother I wanted either.  I love my children, but I can’t spend every moment down on the floor with them building towers out of blocks or pretending to fight Superheroes. I don’t think it hurts children to be reminded that we’re human, with our own needs. The trick is, letting them down gently and kindly, which I sometimes fail at….)

In those days, the father was the head of the family, and the mother was the one who ran the home and took are of the children. With that kind of an attitude and approach – for example, if I had some children here visiting with Ned (her son) and Louise, I would let them do anything in the house – run around in every room, jump on the beds, they did all kinds of activities – but then I’d say, “It’s almost 5 o’ clock, kiddies, let’s straighten up the home, Dad’s almost home and he works very hard so we want it to look nice when he comes home.”

We ate family dinners every night. And those were valuable times that determined how everybody’s day went. Today, everybody is eating at a different time but it’s really important to have that meal together several times a week. It’s a very close, on hand experience.

Tell me about a mother you truly admire.

There really hasn’t been any mother that I have truly, truly admired. Pas moi? Sniff…. I’ve been disappointed in many mothers these days with the ways they handle children. They don’t have any discipline, for one. And they throw things around. Like they might open some chewing gum and throw the paper on the floor. Um yes, you obviously haven’t witnessed little B throwing her chicken nuggets on the floor each night…

There has to be more discipline introduced. Mothers need to know what they’re doing, have a nice attitude about it, developing all sides of a child and recognizing problems and working towards the mind the body and the spirit.

How did you balance the needs of your two different children? 

I asked this question because I  find it difficult to give my full attention to both the boychild (6 in July) and Miss B (2 and a bit) at the same time — they both need such different things from me. I  sometimes feel like my head is exploding between their two different needs. Do any of you ever feel this way?

Louise was like a little mother towards Ned. She was so helpful.  If I wasn’t around, she was in charge looking after him.

It’s all a matter of being fair and using your judgment as to who’s right and who’s wrong, and sometimes it has to be one way and sometimes it has to be another way, to be fair.   Ed and I liked to sleep late on Saturdays and she would come knocking at the door and Ned would be right behind her and she was taking care of him the whole time we were asleep. She was so good.  They were only a year-and-a-half apart.

I always had a lot of kids around in the building or if it was winter or in the playground, mothers thought I was a teacher because all the kids came to me and we played in the park and we did different things. I helped them learn to jump rope,  or maybe we were outside in the playground and I’d say, “Today we’re going to pretend there are enemies, so you have to crawl low” –- we had all kinds of games, and those kids just loved me.

Before I publish part 2 of this interview…coming soon!…I plan to muse on my definition of a role model. Though I’ve never thought of myself as a role model, maybe thinking more about this can be a source of strength. What do y’all think?

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Categories Motherhood

Been there, done that

May 24, 2012 //
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Let’s face it, motherhood is a wild ride. Personally speaking, it’s taken me a while to find my groove. So many developmental stages. So much to consider — when to discipline, when to let your imps fly free. Which battles to fight and which to let go? There are countless books and “experts” touting the “right” way to parent  – Be a Tiger Mother! No, that’s wrong! Attach to your kids like a plastic suction cup! No, that’s helicopter parenting! — that it’s easy to feel overwhelmed and confused.

When my nearly six-year-old son was first born, I joined a new mother’s group, hoping to meet women going through the similarly exhilarating and terrifying experience of raising a child. I will never forget what the group leader said — a mother who’d raised two children of her own. She said “If there was only one way to raise a child, they would have written only one book.”

That stuck with me. The fact that there are countless many ways to raise a child, and in the end, it has to feel right to you. 

I’ve sought wisdom from older mothers  – real women, who have done the hard work of raising their children into adulthood, and who have emerged from the trenches with rich perspectives to share. Women like my Aunt Lydia, my mother and my mother’s friends.

It’s their stories and their experiences that can serve as a guide or a mirror, to help us find our own way as mothers.

And it’s their stories and perspectives that I’ll be sharing in these pages, over the coming months.

Stay tuned.

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Categories Motherhood

Flying solo

May 17, 2012 //
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Like a dream, it has ended.

Our two nights without our two tykes, vanished into a sea of dirty laundry and bedtime routines.

But ah! How sweet were the fruits of our loins…er…freedom.

One of hubby’s adorable sisters, who lives an hour North, volunteered kindly to watch the chillun. She and her hubby, empty nesters, with not a twinge of wistfulness for the diapering grind.

So kind!

After drive-by drop off, hubby and I immediately release one, long, deep breath. We head straight for Central Kitchen in Cambridge, even though we are both unshowered, grimy, unkempt. We’ll pretend we’re artists, I think, who have just come in from a long day at the studio. Too bad I can’t manufacture paint spatters on my whiffy jeans.

We sidle up to the bar, order martinis, and eat.

A caesar salad with deliciously dense dressing, boquerones and crispy croutons. I’m grateful that hubby hates anchovies, because I eat his.

Then, mussels swimming in white wine and butter. Frites. Oysters. And a creme brûlée, caramelized with the aid of a giant blowtorch at the bar.

I overhear that the bartender/blowtorcher is an expectant father. The Bulgarian woman to my left has no children — yes, I can add “professional eavesdropper” to my LinkedIn profile —  yet she dispenses advice without an ounce of comprehension that she might not be equipped to do so.

“Just make sure they don’t rule your life,” she says. “If they cry, let them cry. They will be fiiiiine.”

Hubby takes umbrage. “Just wait till you have your own children,” he chimes in.

On reflection however, my Bulgarian dining neighbor is more palatable than her replacement, who arrives after Ms. Bulgaria leaves, no doubt to tell a dying person how to stay alive.  Our new bar mate is a jolly woman from San Francisco, who upon hearing we are flying solo for the weekend, suggests we go out and buy some whipped cream for late-night bedroom hijinks.

Right. Just when we have a clean house, with no-one to tidy up after. Like hell am I going to do an extra load of laundry to rinse off dairy product from our sheets.

And that, my friends, is what I have become. The pleasures of sex will never overcome my practical sensibilities. Although, to be fair, had we been staying in a hotel, I’m sure the ReddiWhip would have been in full squirt.

But what hubby and I did discover this weekend, sans aid of Cool Whip, was that we still could have FUN together.

Hooray!

We stayed up till 2am…blasting favorite tunes from our past…courtesy of PJ Harvey, Talk Talk, Rob Bass and DJ EZ Rock, Kate Bush, Bjork.  And from hubby’s playlist…XTC,REM, Pylon, Jonathan Richman.

The next day? Bliss. No early rising. Hubby took run. I painted. And bought a new dress. Leisurely coffee. Quiet. Relaxation. We hit Island Creek Oyster Bar at 4pm. Let the vodka drinking begin. More oysters.

Fried oyster sliders. Lobster roll extraordinaire. Martinis.

Leaving already slightly obnoxiously tiddly, we make our way to Drink. Early enough to beat the crowds. Good drinks. Yummy fries. But disappointing atmosphere. No music!

Then, home again, home again.

No babysitter fees, curfews, early morning rising, fear of late-night wakings. Just us.

Please sir, can I have some more?

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Categories Blowing off steam, Marriage, Motherhood

The Russian Cat Lady

May 9, 2012 //
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Last year, my family and I moved to a lovely town called Brookline, just outside Boston. The perks of leaving New York City continue to flow. We can breathe in the air around us without choking. It’s a short drive to Maine. And we’re no longer bleeding cash.

But I miss New York. Its intensity and creative energy. I miss the anonymity of living in a big city. Boston is comparatively provincial, and though I’m all for making new friends, I don’t really want my neighbors poking their heads into my business.

You see, there’s a middle-aged Russian lady in our ‘hood who regularly bangs on our front door to say hi.

Her mission? To return our cat Viktor from his daily walkabouts. She’ll find Viktor somewhere and bring him home, banging on the front door in the middle of the day to announce his return, causing me to stop mid-salted-caramel-ingestion and think to myself,”Who the f@!% is that?” and momentarily contemplate being axed to death, before I realize it’s probably the Russian Cat Lady.

I will open the door and there she will stand, holding Viktor in her arms. Typically, our conversations go like this:

“He has come home, my dearrrrr,” she’ll say, rolling her r’s like a Checkhovian pro.

“Thanks!” I’ll reply, thinking Listen, he’s a cat, he’ll come home, he always does, please don’t worry about him and bang on my door in the middle of the day like a crazed UPS delivery person in need of meds.

“Have you ever thought about putting in a cat flap?” she’ll ask.

“No!” I’ll reply smiling,  thinking I’ve thought about a lot of things lately, Cat Lady, but cat flaps ain’t one of them. Try saving for our kids’ college accounts and finding a writing job with decent pay. Though you might be right…there have been numerous reports of coyotes and raccoons in the area. Is Viktor prepared for battle?

“It was so sweet the way I found him,” she’ll continue. “He was rrrrubbing up against my leg, and I thought it might be the missing cat from the posters on the street, so I checked his collar. He is so frrrriendly. It is as if he rrrrrecognized me!”

“I know, isn’t he sweet?” I’ll reply, thinking: Are you trying to tell me he needs more attention? Listen Cat Lady, why don’t you try remembering to freshen his water bowl when you have a 2-year-old clawing at your leg for “More wawa please” every 5 seconds?

So imagine my surprise, when last week at the public garden down the street from our home, I spied Ms. From Russia with Love for Cats. A sunny, 4:30 in the afternoon, I was with Miss B, watching her play in the giant sand pit, when I noticed Cat Lady sitting on a nearby bench. As I squinted, trying to figure out whether it was actually her, I noticed she was swigging something out of a bottle that looked remarkably like a Heineken.

Gasp! Shock! Horror! An open container near my 2 year old! I knew there was more to her story. She is a lush!

I texted hubby, who advised me to “Make a citizen’s arrest.”

And then,

“Not a good influence on Viktor.”

Ha!

And then I realized. It’s happening. I have just taken the perilous first step to becoming the very person I loathe: a nosey, hypocritical puritan!  Give this poor woman a break — she’s from Russia!  She probably brushes her teeth with vodka!

In that moment, I realized that it doesn’t matter who my neighbors are and whether I live in a small town in Kansas or the top of a skyscraper in Dubai. I’ve got to remember to take New York with me. It’s OK to embrace the odd animal-loving nosey parker…as long as I don’t become one myself.

After all, Perhaps Cat Lady is Viktor’s guardian angel in disguise. She might save Viktor’s life one day (sniff). 

The next time she drops off Viktor, I’ll invite her in for a beer.

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Categories Brooklyn to Brookline, Motherhood, Thinking about life
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